Noelle de Chanter
by blondearianne
Summary: Noelle de Chanter is running from the demons of her past, although she does not know it. Can she and Erik help each other overcome their history and reach towards the future? Mostly ALW, with some Leroux. EOC pairing. Please R & R! Chapter 10 UP!
1. Auditions

**Prologue**

A woman stared out of the shadows in the wings. She was auditioning for the choral group that would be singing for Hannibal. Erik stared down at her and the other girls looking to audition, seeming high above them from box five. She had blonde hair that was streaked with light red. It was held up in a severe bun, more severe then it needed to be. He frowned at that. She had long, soft curling eyelashes, a strong Roman nose, and heart-shaped lips.

He looked down further to see what she was wearing. It was a conservative mild brown high-collared backstage robe. It showed off none of her body. He shook his head, wondering what she could possibly hide under such a thing. If she was not in prime physical shape, why had she even thought of auditioning at the most exclusive opera in France, if not in the world?

Erik watched as she shed the robe, gracefully stepping out of it. She wore a simple black leotard under it. He gasped as he saw her figure. She had long, slender legs (untypical in a dancer, he mused), a thin waist, and ample breasts. The Phantom nodded dispassionately, wondering if she could sing. The crowd would love her if she could. He was past tired of Carlotta.

He noticed something else. She seemed afraid. Not nervous or jittery with stage fright or anxiety about the coming audition, but genuinely frightened. The Phantom wondered what she was afraid of. He thought, bemused, that it might be him. That was probably all it was. The girls' backstage fright stories about the Phantom of the Opera probably had gotten to her. If she did not bother him and played into his hands like all the other dancers did, she had nothing to fear from him.

He turned away, about to lave the catwalk above the stage. Before he could, bright blue eyes caught and held his, if only for a second or two. He stared down at the woman for a moment, and then turned away with a flick of his long, dark cape.

Noelle de Chante was shivering in the shadows. She looked at all of the other girls and shook her head, wondering how they managed to make friends so easily. She remembered happier days, when she had pranced and flirted like the best of them. She shuddered at the memory of what had happened as a result of that. Now, she wore dresses that she had only ever seen on old women.

She gently slipped off the conservative robe she was wearing. The ballet outfit she had to wear under it made her nervous. She would much have rather been in a conservative, stiff, high-collared, plain brown dress right then. Noelle reminded herself that she needed this job, and that she had better shape up if she planned to get in as a chorus girl. She was bankrupt. After her mother had thrown her out of their house after learning her secret, she had been on the mean streets of Paris, with no work experience. All she had was the clothes on her back and two hundred franks, money stolen from her mother before Noelle had left. But she had been quite a dancer a few years earlier, getting good enough to get several suggestions that she went professional, and remembered many steps. She sang fairly well; she was no prima-donna, but she got along. She bought a cheap leotard for this audition with her last bit of money.

And so she had come to the Opera Populaire, after she had run out of money and self-respect. She had not thought of herself as rich before, but compared to the squalor in the slums of Paris, she realized that she had been more wealthy then many. _Had Been. _It was still difficult to think of her old life in the past tense. A brief, sarcastic smile danced on her lips as she chuckled at herself. She was beginning to relax. No one could harm her here. She was safe.

Just as she was thinking that, she felt eyes on her. She knew the sensation anywhere. Someone was gazing on her, and she knew it was not one of the dancers or Mme. Giry. It was someone far more dangerous. She did not move, but felt with her mind to see where the look was coming from. It was a talent she had, born out of paranoia. She looked up, blood pumping in her ears, and adrenalin through her veins. There was darkness there up in the catwalk, but in the midst of the darkness, two sharp pinpricks of green. Eyes, she thought. She also thought she saw a flash of white among the black, as if there was a mask. She blinked, and there was nothing there, only the steel of the stage-hand's perch.

Mme. Giry looked at Noelle, hands on her hips. "Come, madame, do not take all day. We have work to do, and cannot sit around waiting!"

Noelle quickly ran into line at the sharp reprimand, her pointe shoes making a tap-tap rhythm on the wooden stage.

"Sorry," she whispered as she got in line with the other dancers. Focus, she coached herself. The real trial was to begin now. No more thoughts of strange things lurking in black shadows. She would inform Mme. Giry of what she had seen after practice, but not until then. She returned her attention to the first girl to audition, a brunette with soft, curling hair.

"Christine Daee," Monsieur Reyer proclaimed.

Erik walked adeptly through the shadows of the passageways, going to his usual spot in Box 5 to watch the auditions. Monsieur Lefevre would be sitting there, watching the auditions because it was necessary for appearances. But both he and Erik knew that the Opera house belonged to one person, and one person only, despite whoever bought a piece of paper saying the property was theirs. That person was the Phantom, and the Phantom only. No matter who Lefevre sold it to, it would always be Erik's.

He made his way there, exiting out of a long mirror in the hallway. He walked over to his seat, watching out of the shadows, deathly-silent. Lefevre looked up nervously. Fool, Erik thought. He was almost glad the coward was leaving. Perhaps there would be a real challenge for him now; he had quickly bent the weak man to his uses. He had grown bored, seeing as there was no sport.

"Christine Daee," said Monsieur Reyer with relish.

Erik watched her closely. She had been at the Opera Populaire for many years, training steadily. Hopefully she would not turn out to be a disappointment. He had too many of those. She was pretty enough, but he wondered if she could sing. She went through the ballet steps well, lifting her legs high on the many leaps and arabesques. Mme. Giry looked up into the shadows, knowing that he was watching. Christine was a girl the ballet mistress had grown attached to, and had high hopes for.

Monsieur Reyer cleared his throat, and began to conduct a simple aria, a easy piece. Erik sighed. The girl had an average voice. One that could be developed with time, perhaps, but time was not what he had. He would keep her, but she would not become great.

Several girls came. They were all fair, and none of them worthy of a spot in his opera. He smiled when he saw Meg Giry. She already had a spot in the chorus, as far as he was concerned. He had watched her grow up from the time when she was very little. Her voice was good, and she was an excellent dancer. Lord knew she was at least better then Carlotta.

Finally, they got to the girl he had been watching earlier.

"Noelle de Chanter," Monsieur Reyer announced.

Noelle of singing, he thought, translating the French. Hopefully she could sing. She moved through the routine, a little rusty, but good. He decided that there was a certain passion to the way she moved, a love and a feeling. She was not simply dancing, she was telling a story. But all of her movements encompassed a certain despair, even when the dance was joyous. He wondered why.

He was quickly torn away from these thoughts when Monsieur Reyer began to count, beginning the piece. One, two, three, four.

Noelle moved over the notes, her sultry voice moving along them smoothly and softly. It was a joyous song, speaking of love and light. Somehow, she did not seem able to put the emotion into it that she put into her dancing. She seemed almost to put on a false air of joy, that was not true to her nature. She seemed weighted down, and unable to draw the audience into the song.

He smirked as he thought that no one else would read as much into the character and soul of a person by hearing them sing one song. Only he. As she finished the song on the one high note in it (which she hit well), he began thinking that she was the exact person he needed. He would keep her, he decided. She was the last one to audition, and so he decided to go down and begin composing a note that he would give to Monsieur Lefevre. It would inform him of who he would keep. Right now, it looked like only Meg Giry, Noelle de Chanter, and Christine Daee.

He thought of her, Noelle, for a moment. He closed his eyes, soft lips parted in an expression of admiration and perhaps... a bit more? He shook his head. That was disgusting. He was ten years older then her, at least. Still, a glimmer of hope, despite all his attempts to subdue it, slowly rose subtly in his chest, until it became part of his entire being. Perhaps in time, if he allowed her to know him... perhaps she would see him as more then a monster, more then 'the child born of Satan's mistress,' as he was known in his days in the Gypsy band.

Memories flooded over him in a despairing torrent, now that he had thought of his childhood. He gasped, unable to move, the black stares and gasps of women and men flooding over him in a wave. He remembered his mother's face, glaring at him in repulsion. He could not bear that look on anyone else's face, ever again. He opened his eyes after some time, and realized that he was still standing there. He wondered how long he had been there, in the corridor leading down to his home. Lefevre would be needing some direction as for who to keep for _Hannibal_. He would go write a note to him.

He wondered, as he made his way down in to opera's deep basement, what had brought such emotion from him. Usually, he was able to bypass such emotional horrors. He felt drained and used. After he put the note on Lefevre's desk, he would lay down and feel a burning pain in his soul, coming from his memory and driving a knife into his soul. He would not weep, but mourn silently his face that had cursed him so. It was a horrible ritual of self-pity, and Erik knew it. But he did not care. As he lay down, one word came into his consciousness, burning with a sudden intensity he did not know it possessed.

"Noelle,"he whispered into the darkness.

Noelle stood politely until the last of the girls were finished. She could not help herself but to judge them. None of them had any potential except for Christine Daee and Meg Giry. Of course, she had no guarantee that she would even get into the Opera.

At the end, she stood forward. Many of the girls were growing impatient, wanting to go home. She did the ballet, feeling a little rusty, but doing well. The passion of the dance enveloped her, until she felt the music deep in her bones.

She was breathing heavily when she finished the dance. She did a small curtsy, and waited for Reyer to wave his wand to start the ballad. She thought that she did well. The only fault was the choice of song. It was a song of light, when all she could feel was darkness. It was a song of love, when she knew that there was no such thing. She was bitter, deep down in her heart.

She finished her song. She curtsied low again and stepped back into the line of the other dancers, who were impatiently waiting.

Mme. Giry addressed them all.

"Come back tomorrow, girls, to hear who we will be choosing. You may dorm in our dormitories, if you wish. Until then, Ou Revoir."

The girls began to exit the stage, talking among themselves excitedly. Only Meg, Mme. Giry, and Noelle remained. Noelle ran forward quickly, stopping the older woman.

"Ah, Madame, I was wonderingif I might have a brief moment of your time?'

Mme. Giry nodded expectantly.

"I'm not entirely sure, but... I thought I saw something up in the catwalk earlier, like someone or something. I was wondering if there was an explanation for that?" The words tumbled out of her mouth, clumsily tripping over themselves.

Mme. Giry raised an eyebrow. "You thought?"

"Well, yes..."

"How certain were you?"

Noelle bit her lip.

"I see." Mme. Giry patted the dancer on the cheek.

"You were probably imagining something, my dear. Go now. Meg will show you the way."

Meg came up to Noelle. She began walking with her, past the wings of the stage. Mme. Giry's daughter looked around cautiously, making sure her mother was gone.

She stopped in the middle of the hall. Noelle looked at her curiously, wondering what she was doing.

"What... exactly did you see, Noelle?"

"Well," Noelle faltered, "I thought I saw two green eyes, something white, and there was black... But why do you want to know?"

Meg looked around cautiously once again.

"There are... rumors that something, someone, lurks beneath this opera. He wears a white mask, and is very dangerous. We know him as the Phantom of the Opera, or the Opera Ghost." Meg motioned for Noelle to come closer. "It is.. rumored he sends notes to people, telling them what to do, and suchlike. And that if you don't do what he tells you to do, then bad things happen to you."

Meg took Noelle's hand, obviously disturbed by this subject. She lead Noelle down the hallway, walking quickly. But in Noelle's mind, there were only two words.

"Le fantôme de l'opéra."


	2. A Strange Tale

**Chapter 2**

**Note- I don't own any of this. Not Erik (drool) or any of the Characters except for Noelle. I would have put that in earlier, but I figured that anyone with any morsel of common sense would not think that I did. Thanks for all the reviews. Hope you like this chapter! **

**Queen Ame- Hee hee! Thanks! Christine can be a wuss. Noelle isn't, as you will see later.. evil laughter booms, a maniacal laugh sounds.**

Meg lead Noelle to the dorms. They were crowded and noisy, the girls all coming together and chattering in large groups. They smelled, and the bunks were packed, leaving a limited amount of space in the room to breathe, let alone have some privacy. Meg sighed, and lead Noelle to a back corner, where there was another girl sitting on a bunk. Noelle recognized her as Christine Daee, the first girl who had auditioned.

"Bon jour," Meg said, sitting down on the bed with Christine. She gestured to the packed room.

"Well, this is as good as it gets. You can have the bunk above Christine. I'll stay here too, for tonight."

Christine explained, "She usually stays in another room, since Madame is her mother."

Meg smiled and said, "I want you to feel welcome."

"Thank you," Noelle said with a little smile. She had put on the robe from before, and was feeling strange, since all the other girls were wearing loose, comfortable clothing. Noelle had but three different changes of clothing; the very expensive dress she had worn when she had left her house, the leotard, and another dress. She supposed that she could sell the gaudy dress for money, but she couldn't bring herself to part with it.

She awkwardly climbed the ladder and sat down on her bunk. It had white sheets, and was clean, if a little over-used. She sat down, having a clear view of the girls, who were still chattering and gossiping. She lay down, resting and thinking. Meg and Christine, who were obviously friends, were sitting down below her quietly speaking. They obviously were best friends.

She reflected on her performance. She did well. Not the best, but she was better then some of the girls there. Not that she was arrogant. No, she was good at speaking blatant truths to herself. It was something that she had to learn, in order to cope.

Noelle began to listen to the girls' conversation. There was rapid talking back-and-forth, and much of it she did not understand. There was a name that kept coming up in conversation; Carlotta.

Noelle bent her head down to the bed, where Christine and Meg were engaged in an avid conversation.

"Um, excuse me, I don't mean to seem ignorant, but... who's Carlotta?"

Meg and Christine looked at each other and laughed. It was a kind, gentle laugh, but it still hurt a little bit. She felt a little sheepish, as if she were a bit dull.

"Carlotta is.. The primary soprano for this theater. She is..." Christine looked to Meg for help.

"She is the kind of woman that thinks she is the only one in the universe who matters. She is a horrible singer, and acts like the is the best in the world," Meg elaborated.

Noelle nodded. "Thanks."

She sat back on her bed. She knew Carlotta's kind of women. She had actually made friends with people like that before. She wondered belatedly if they ever thought of her like that. She chucked, a sorry little sound. A month of nearly-starving in Paris' slums had changed her view of herself. There, no one care how well you sang, who you were the daughter of, or anything else. It was only a mad rush for survival and food.

One of the girls, an especially loud and gregarious one, clapped her hands together and said excitedly, "Everyone hush now! Leona is going to tell us a story now... about the Phantom." The girl had a whiny quality to her voice that grated on Noelle's nerves. All the girls began to gather around a buxom red-head, who was waiting quietly, relishing the attention.

Noelle sighed and slid off her bed. She had a kind of insatiable curiosity about the Phantom. Meg's words came back to her.

_There are... rumors that something, someone, lurks beneath this opera. He wears a white mask, and is very dangerous. We know him as the Phantom of the Opera, or the Opera Ghost._

Noelle smiled gently. She was the same age as everyone else there, but felt ages older. Maturity weighed on her, pressing her down with a burden. Forced maturity.

She sat down, acting as all of them, but feeling separate.

Leona, the red-head, began in a hushed voice.

"It is rumored that once, in a small village, a woman gave birth to a boy. But it was not an ordinary boy."

They obviously knew the story well. Leona paused, bathing in the attention.

"This boy had a strange... deformity. It is said that the left side of his face is scarred, horribly." She paused again, hearing the gasps of the girls around her. She smiled and continued on.

"It is said that there is only a strange gap on the left side of his face where a nose should be, and that he is a monster."

Noelle felt disgusted. Not from the physical description, but from the sick fascination the girls had from this subject. They listened with uncanny rapt attention, like a cat watching a mouse. And this boy that Leona was describing... he was their prey.

"His mother could not even stand his face. So one day, he ran away. He came to the gypsies, where he was known far and wide."

Leona smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth.

"Then one day, the boy got fed up. He slowly waited while his master was counting the money, the reached out and slowly slipped the rope off of his wrists."

Leona reached behind herself. Apparently this story also had props.

"He slowly, slowly slipped the rope around his neck...and strangled him!" Leona brought a piece of rope out from behind her back and showed it to the girls. They giggled and squealed in fright.

Leona's eyes were wide. Noelle felt queasy. She left and returned to her bunk, silently fuming over how the girl was telling this story. Noelle had seen something, and she knew it was not her imagination. If this was the explanation they had for the Phantom of the Opera, then she would find some other one. This was ridiculous.

Leona continued. Despite Noelle's best attempts to block the noise out of her ears, the girl's low, husky voice still continued.

"It is said that then, he ran away, and even now, haunts this very Opera house, and that whoever incurs his wrath... will be hung up with a Lasso!" She once again held up the rope. All the girls playfully gasped once again. But this time, Mme. Giry stood in the open doorway, fury clearly stained on her face.

"Leona Marie Devier, you will come see me outside at once!" Her voice was tight, and obviously she was fighting for control of it. Leona swallowed, and Noelle smiled in her bed, a dark little grin. She was glad someone had put a stop to that. Whatever Leona got from Mme. Giry, she would deserve it. Noelle heard Meg say softly to Christine,

"Mother does hate it when we discuss the Phantom," Meg said. She and Christine had slid back onto the bed while Leona was talking, during the time she held up the rope.

"Yes, she does." Christine frowned. "Why should she? Leona is a twit, but she knows the stories aren't real. Madame knows that too, so why should it be so upsetting?"

Meg looked softly up above her, where Noelle was silent. She wondered if the girl had been imagining things, or if she really had seen the Phantom of the Opera. Meg could never admit so to Christine, but she had a suspicion that there really was a phantom, and he really did haunt the Opera. She knew it was silly, but things her mother had done in the past had lead her to believe so.

Mme. Giry returned with Leona next to her. Leona was pale, and it was clear there would be no re-tellings of the Phantom's past from her. Mme. Giry stood in front of them, clearly no less angry. Her height and the fact that she used a cane did not make her any less intimidating.

She said angrily, "There will be no more talk of 'The Phantom,' or any such thing. All of you will keep your mouths shut. This is the last word I expect to have to say on this subject."

The ballet mistress whirled around and shut the door, leaving the girls alone.

Anxious talk (not of the Phantom) began to bubble up from the girls. Meg and Christine continued their conversation as normal. But Noelle was laying calmly down, deep in thought about the one they called The Phantom.

* * *

The subject of Noelle's muse was right then planning to go speak with her. Erik donned the black cape, feeling powerful. He was a different man then the one he had been a little bit ago, feeling grief in the dark. He was the Phantom now, and this opera was his. So would be the woman who, getting out of her bed, suddenly had an inexplicable urge to go out and explore the Opera. She, in time, would be his to command.

He swallowed briefly. And, in time, he thought, maybe she could grow to see him as more then a monster, more then a strange ghost who flitted around the Opera. Perhaps, in time, he could tell her his name, have her... love him. The words sounded strange in his mind. Someone... love him? He could never, ever show her his face, not if that was what he wanted. No, he could hide from her, hide a part of his soul, hoard it selfishly to himself, until the one day came. The day when she would take off his mask, and he would see the same look of revulsion he had all of his life.

He straightened visibly, and told himself to think no more. He had a task to accomplish, and accomplish it he would. He set off in the boat in pursuit of that mission, and the candles slowly flickered out behind him.


	3. Meetings

**Chapter 3**

**An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin- Thanks for all of the reviews! (Gives a large plushie)This chapter is for you. **

Noelle got up softly. Everyone else was sleeping, some from large quantities of alcohol. She had an inexplicable urge to get up and explore the Opera house. A thrill went through her. Who would know? And why not? Sleep would not come, and that was almost a blessing. For with sleep would come nightmares, and she would wake up in the morning feeling as if she had never slept.

She carefully climbed down the ladder, her bare feet making soft rasping noises. She wore a large nightgown that had been loaned to her by Mme. Giry. The ballet mistress knew of her poverty, and kindly had loaned it to her. How the petite woman had gotten such a large nightgown, Noelle would never know.

She walked across the room. No one stirred, all deep in sleep. She looked back once more before she opened the large door and went through, closing it softly. A brief flitter of a smile that did not reach her eyes crossed her face. Then she was gone, out into the hallway.

She held a candle in her hand. Her eyes were focused, even though she did not know what she was doing.

She walked along stepping determinedly as if in a trance towards an unknown destination. She stopped, in front of a door. She hesitated, not sure if she should open it. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes, but then it faded, and she opened the small, wooden oak door.

It was a chapel. It was dark, with no candles being lit. Noelle set hers on the floor and knelt on her knees. But before she could begin her prayers, a voice boomed out. It was a loud tenor, seeming amplified;

"You have come here, my child."

Noelle looked around fearfully. She bit her lower lip, hard, and told herself to keep calm.

"Who is there?"

The answer came. "It is I. That was a superb audition, my dear."

She forced the tension in her shoulders down. There was a bit of humor in the situation, she realized. She was parleying words with a voice in her head. Of all the things she was, she did not realize she was crazy.

"Why thank you," she said her voice light in banter. "I think I did alright myself."

The voice came back, with perhaps a little bit of... surprise? "Yes. There is definitely room for improvement, though. You see, I plan to make you great, darling. You have just the voice I need."

She nodded sarcastically. "Is that so? I, a rat of Paris, with little more possessions then the clothes on my back, are to be made into a great performer? Why, I suppose I shall take Carlotta's place as the chief soprano on the stage."

The voice ignored her skepticism. "Why, my dear, indeed you shall. In time, though, in time."

Fear came back. There was something evil about the voice, an inlaid danger about it. It was intimidating and patronizing her at the same time.

"Well, I must be going now to get some sleep, if you wish me to sing at all tomorrow. ." She kept her voice light, but it trembled a little bit with dread.

A form stepped out of the shadows. She gasped, all the stories she had heard about the Phantom of the Opera coming back to haunt her. The first thing she noticed was the mask. It covered up half of his face, from his hairline to right below his lip. It was white, almost garishly so. In contrast, he wore black formal-wear, with a long, pitch-black cape behind him. She turned to his face, then noticing it. It was handsome, almost unbelievably so. He had high cheekbones, and a strong shin. His nose was strong, but not overly so. His green eyes pierced hers and almost sent her reeling back from him. His hair was soft and chestnut-colored. In short, her was both the most handsome and strange man she had ever seen.

He noticed her fear and laughed. It was a soft sound, gentle and harsh at the same time. She noticed it and began to frantically look around the small chapel for a weapon. She found none. Noelle began to flash back to that night, the night her world came crashing down.

_She was wearing a green dress, tight on her hips and very provocative. She had been drunk that night, from too much red, sweet wine. She had laughed and bid all her friends goodbye. That was when she had noticed Michael, who was standing in the shadows where the street lamps did not reach. It was deserted around them. She had remembered shamelessly flirting with him, as she had with all the other men at the party. She did that every night._

_He was handsome, dark and mysterious, if a little withdrawn. Perhaps tonight would be the night, she thought. She was still a virgin, but... that could and would eventually change. She could not stay 'pure' as her mother kept telling her. She had smiled at him then, a bright, lusty smile that promised nothing, but offered much. He had walked forward, staring at her. A small bubble of laughter escaped her lips, then slowly faded as she saw the look in his eyes. Something was not right. _

She shuddered at the memory of that night. Noelle slowly backed away from the masked man, who stood, and odd look on his face. He did not follow her, and hope began to swell. Perhaps he did not mean to harm her at all.

"Why so frightened, ma cherie?" he asked, his voice gentle. It was a beautiful voice, and Noelle recognized it as the one that had spoken to her earlier. It was kind and unthreatening.

She asked, her voice husky with suppressed fear, "Do you mean to harm me?"

He shook his head gently. "No. It would be very foolish of me to hurt my Opera's new rising star."

She relaxed a fraction. "I have not even gotten into the chorus yet, monsieur. Perhaps you have mistook me for someone else..." The words died on her lips as he moved closer to her she closed her eyes, in wonder. He whispered softly in her ear,

"I make no mistakes, Noelle de Chanter. Remember that. Remember that I have chosen you, and that I choose wisely." His lips moved softly. She somehow felt no fear, only a hotness that spread across her face and a strange, pulsing feeling.

She dared not to open her eyes after his lips left her ear. She waited a few seconds longer, then opened them. He was gone, no explanation given. Of course, there would be none if he was who she suspected he was.

Noelle let out a long, shuddering breath. These were crazy thoughts, she told herself. There was no 'Phantom of the Opera." It was most likely a myth, a ridiculous tale that one of the dancers had made up in boredom. She had simply seen shadows before, and she was hallucinating now from lack of sleep. But a nagging feeling persisted and refused to go away as she stared out into the hallway from the now-open door. She sighed, picked up her candle and walked back to her dormitory. She was tired now, almost dazed. She doubted that she would remember any of this in the morning.

* * *

Erik watched her. She had come to him, gradually, into the darkened chapel. He had thought hat this was a suitable place to introduce himself to her. He had not said anything for a little bit, content to simply watch her. She wore a large (too large) white nightgown, without frills. It did not suit her, and looked as if it was borrowed. As she knelt, the phantom decided that now was the time to make his move.

"My child, you have come to me." It was a cryptic statement that probably made no sense to her. She opened her eyes, and he saw fear in them. She bit down on her lower lip, and the fear disappeared. Nice control, he thought.

"Why thank you," She said, with amusement. "I thought I did alright myself." Amusement, he thought! She came here, she heard voices, and she was amused. Noelle must be made of something special, he realized softly.

"Yes. There is definitely room for improvement, though. You see, I plan to make you great, darling. You have just the voice I need." He said these words, uncertain of the effect they would have on her, hoping that she would not be difficult.

Noelle nodded sarcastically. "Is that so? I, a rat of Paris, with little more possessions then the clothes on my back, are to be made into a great performer? Why, I suppose I shall take Carlotta's place as the chief soprano on the stage."

Erik smiled, realizing that she did not know the truth of the words she spoke. "Why, my dear, indeed you shall. In time, though, in time."

He saw fear enter her eyes. It was masked well, but it was still there. A strange tenderness entered Erik's heart. He did not want her to be afraid, just obedient. Somehow, he did not think that he would enjoy the look of fear that would enter her every time he talked to her. He would not feel triumphant when she quickly darted about the halls, terror showing in her very movement.

"Well, I must be going now to get some sleep, if you wish me to sing at all tomorrow..." Noelle's light, yet husky soprano trailed off. He realized that she was going to leave now. No! He could not leave things like this between them. He stepped out of the shadows in which he had been standing, shadows where she otherwise would have never seen him.

Noelle looked him up and down, and he could see in her eyes the stories that had been passed down throughout the Opera house, about the _Phantom._ He laughed, a sound of genuine mirth, with gentle chiding and harshness inside of it.

He saw blank, flat terror in her gaze then. Her eyes hazed over with fear, and with memory, he saw. She looked around frantically for something to hide behind, perhaps, or even to defend herself. She found nothing, and backed away from him, the look of a frightened animal that has just been startled.

Something inside of him rebelled. It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to fell unsafe, just... careful of him.

"Why so frightened, ma cherie?" Erik asked gently. He was trying to calm her, to reassure her. He carefully did not move from the spot he was standing in.

She asked, all masks gone from her face, not even attempting to hide her fear, "Do you mean to harm me?"

He shook his head, reassuring her. "No. It would be very foolish to hurt my Opera's new rising star, now wouldn't it." He was reminding her that he was still dangerous, even though he would not hurt her.

"I have not even gotten into the chorus yet, monsieur. Perhaps you have mistook me for someone else..." She relaxed a little bit, feeling more comfortable. He laughed inwardly at her foolishness as he walked forward and watched Noelle close her eyes.

He whispered gently in her ear with just enough sweetness and bitterness, "I make no mistakes, Noelle de Chanter. Remember that. Remember that I have chosen you, and that I choose wisely."

His throat caught awkwardly when he said the last part. Why was this happening to him? He wondered in frustration, as he left, not looking back. His throat had not caught like that since his teenage years, when his voice had caught. What was it about her, he wondered for the second time that day. She _did_ things to Erik. He had felt his heart-rate accelerate as he had whispered the words into her ear, past her soft, angelic blonde hair.

He walked all the way back to his chamber, where he sat down on the organ and began to furiously compose music. He was writing the part in which Don Juan and his Amoureux were speaking of their blunt and blatant passion. He wrote furiously even as he played the notes on the organ. He finally slowed down, realizing that he was tired and hungry. Erik sighed. Sometimes he hated the needs of the body. He looked at the several sheets of music he had written, smiling. He felt a sense of accomplishment. He looked over the music and decided that he would name it "Point of No Return."

He decided to eat, and then sleep for a couple of hours. Erik had discovered that he needed very little sleep to function. Before that, Noelle's angelic face appeared before his closed eyes. The fear she had looked at him with, and the look on her face when he had whispered in her ear... He shook his head. There was no love, even admiration there. He was tired and he was imagining things. He decided to go to sleep then, and he knew in that instant that his dreams would be filled with her, and only her.


	4. A Discovery

**Sorry that I took so long to update. I've had some kind of nasty flu, and have been laying in bed all day, re-reading Phantom and various other books. Here's another chapter (it's kind of short, but I promise the next one will be better.) Thanks again for all of the reviews!**

Noelle woke up late. Most of the other dancers were already dressed. She felt... renewed as she had not in a long time. She did not regret the extra sleep. She stretched her arms long, blinking tiredness from her eyes, when she stopped in mid-motion. She remembered now the events the night before, and her delusions. Noelle shook her head. She had to focus now. Mme. Giry would be calling them in now, to tell them who had been chosen.

She quickly and silently got dressed. She was very careful with her outfit; if it got snagged in some way, she could not afford to replace it. Just as she was finished dressing, Mme. Giry came in.

"Girls!" she called their attention. "You will all now proceed to the theater. Once you are there, you will learn what is to become of your future in this theater." The older woman paused, and her gaze fell on Noelle. "Good luck."

Noelle kept her gaze downwards as she walked to the theater with the other girls. They were all silent as well, as if there was an aura that surrounded the theater that they did not wish to disturb. She realized what they were afraid of and grimaced. The Phantom. Her mind kept reverting back to the night before, no matter what she told it to do. She gritted her teeth and told it to keep silent.

They filed onto the stage silently. Noelle looked around, and the glory of the Opera-house began to overwhelm her. She had seen it the day before, but it was only now that she began to appreciate its beauty.

Red, plush seats were there, in both superb boxes and ground-level seats. There was gold and marble everywhere. There seemed not to be a corner that was unadorned. It was magnificent, a palace built for the rich to amuse themselves. Velvet curtains were on either side of the stage. Large backdrops were in the back of the stage, waiting to be revealed.

The sheer magnificence of it threatened to overwhelm her. She had been in the middle class before, but no where near wealthy enough to afford even the worst seats to attend and Opera. She had instead amused herself with learning how to dance and sing from old, musty books in the rotting library behind her house. The librarian had eventually given them to her, a short while before it closed. No one was interested in books. She was lucky that she could even read. Her father, before he had died, had taught her how.

She was abruptly stricken from her dreams by Monsieur Reyer tapping his conductor's baton on the stand.

"Christine Daee, Meg Giry, and..." He frowned at the sheet he was reading from, as if something was beyond belief. Noelle's heart was in her throat. She needed this job. She could not bear to go back into the streets. The only way she could possibly survive would be to sell her body for money... She felt chilled. She had to get this job. She had to.

"Noelle de Chanter," he finished. Noelle felt relief sweeping through her in a steady wave. She wanted to scream her thanks. But she did not. She waited while Mme. Giry spoke to the other girls, the ones who did not get in for the extra staff they would be needing for Hannibal. She thought, 'it is just as the Phantom said.' She then shook her head, amused. She might have gotten into the chorus, but she would go no further. She was not a wonderful singer, and her dancing was fair. Noelle was not made for great things.

All the other girls had left except for Christine, Meg, and herself. Mme. Giry said, "Congratulations. You are now part of the chorus for _Hannibal. _Rehearsals will be held every day, from 9 am to 5 pm. You will be paid 5 franks every day of rehearsal, and 20 franks for the performance. The ballet will supply lunch for you, and you may eat your supper anywhere you choose." She paused here. "After _Hannibal, _the Opera may choose whom to keep. You may or you may not stay. That is all, and I wish you my heartfelt luck."

Noelle wondered at the formal tone. She had learned from listening to Meg and Christine's conversations that both girls were like daughters to the Ballet Mistress. Meg and Christine began to walk away, and she felt like she should do so also.

She walked down the long, oppressive hallways of the opera. She would go to the Chapel, to pray. Noelle sighed. Little good it would do, for she was damned already...

_Michael came steadily closer to her. She whispered, "Michael?" but it did no good. She began to walk away, slowly at first, then faster. He pulled a long, wicked knife out of its sheath in his belt. Fear began to pulse through her veins. _

"_Help!" She screamed loudly. "HELP!" But there was no one there, and if there was, they obviously would not do anything to help her. Michael caught up to her, and pushed her down into the mud and filth. He put the knife at her throat, and whispered, a evil smirk on his face, "There is no one who can help you now." _

Noelle shook her head, as if to clear it of those memories. She was at the Chapel door now. She hesitated, wondering if this was the best place to be. After all, this was where she had her delusions. She shook her head. No, that was silly. This was a place of God, more of a sanctuary then anything else.

She opened the door and walked in. She knelt down on her knees and folded her hands. She softly murmured the words of the Lord's prayer. She heard something behind her but did not turn around. But then, a voice that she had heard the night before said softly but not weakly, "I told you that you would get in."

Noelle stood up quickly and whirled around. As she had suspected, a figure clad in formal clothes with half a white mask on and piercing green eyes stood before her. She whispered, only loud enough for her to hear, "So I was not only dreaming."


	5. A Lesson

**Thanks for all the reviews! They really do motivate me to write! I am better now, it was one of those nasty 24-hour things. ;) **

**Note: This chapter deals with some rape themes. I promise not to be graphic, and I will keep the PG-13 rating, but if you absolutely abhor things of that nature, you would do well to avoid Noelle's italicized memories. **

Noelle did not back up this time. She simply stared at the man in front of her, reminding herself that this was the Phantom of the Opera. He was dangerous, she realized. But what did he want with her?

"Come again," he asked in his light but deep tenor. The sound of his voice sent shivers up her spine. It was so passionate. It was like every word as it came out of his mouth possessed and took on a special meaning. She could dream to that voice, fall asleep to it and wake to it, hear it every second of every day and never grow tired of it...

"I thought I was dreaming before. Now I see that I am not." She hoped that he would not find her foolish. She could not stand to be thought of as a child... not after all she had gone through.

The Phantom raised his right eyebrow.

"No, you were not. I am very real." Noelle wondered if his words were true. This man... if that was what he was... could very well be a ghost, or so it seemed. She knew that these thoughts were unbecoming and foolish... but she could not help but to wonder. She breathed in and out, releasing all tension. She would obviously have to deal with the Phantom, if she would be seeing him regularly.

"I am here to instruct you in the art of singing," he said comfortably into the silence.

A brief smile was tempted to come over her face as she thought of her childhood teacher, Monsieur Gaston. He had taught her to sing, to dance, and to play the organ, as well as he could before he died. A brief pang of sorrow came as she thought of his passing. It seemed that no matter how much time went by, she would still miss him. She decided to play his word-game and smirked. Noelle would not be a child in the way he treated her. She would show him that there was more to her then a pretty girl who knew a little of the arts.

"I have already had lessons in singing, monsieur."

He nodded and flicked the black cape at her, as if to dispel the words she had just spoken.

"That may be so, but your tutor could have only taught you the... mechanics of vocalizing. I," he stepped gently closer to her, causing the hidden fire in her veins to ignite, "Will teach you passion." She swallowed, having lost all the words that wanted to come out on the tip of her tongue. He gently stroked the line of her jaw. She tensed, not from pain, but from memory. It had been a long time since a man had touched her tenderly. She had not let anyone come close to her after Michael. He stepped back, and she thought with a twisted grin that he was very real. Before he turned away, she saw perhaps a flash of... hurt in the green eyes that possessed and enchanted. But that was impossible. The Phantom of the Opera was surely not offended by her reluctance to feel a man's touch. She realized the inane foolishness of such a thought, and instantly felt ashamed.

"I shall have to blindfold you," he said, almost seeming to warn her. Noelle nodded, her heart pumping. She could not refuse, but only wondered where he was taking her, and what he intended to do to her when he had her there. She had a severe doubt of all men, even one as charming as this... if he was a man. She realized that there would be nothing that she could do if he took her somewhere secluded and assaulted her.

All these fears slipped away as he came closer. He gently slipped a soft, soft blindfold over her eyes. His gentle hands brushed her hair as he tied it and then stepped back. She would now be blindly lead into the layer of the figure that was possibly the most dreaded ghost in France. And she was not afraid.

His voice warned softly, "Stay there." The Phantom's voice seemed if anything, more handsome by the fact that she could not see him. She stood, wondering what he was doing. She then heard the voices of the only two women who had been kind to her since she got to the Opera Populaire. Meg and Christine. She could hear them, although she could not hear what they were saying.

A hand with a cold, most likely black glove on it pulled her somewhere she could not see. She came, unresisting, knowing it was the Phantom's. She heard a whoosh, and then a click behind her. The lighting seemed dimmer here. She could not make out anything from behind the blindfold. She heard Meg and Christine's voices, but also a cold, oppressive silence, broken occasionally by the faint dripping sounds of water. She kept her face carefully blank. No emotion would be good here. She had learned how to shelter herself from the world as soon as she was out on Paris' mean streets. There had been no tears then, and there would be none now.

She asked him briefly about Christine and Meg. He acknowledged her, but his voice took on an odd tone of voice, and she realized that it would not be wise to speak.

The hand still lead her along, safely. Noelle only once tripped, and there were hands that she fell into. She quickly regained her balance. The hands quickly let go as soon as they were sure she had her balance, and then she was being lead again.

After many winding hallways and dripping noises, they were finally there. A door opened, and she was lead in, by the same hand which had lead her before. Gently, the blindfold was removed, and she could see.

What she saw amazed her. It was a large room, with a organ in the middle. Heavenly bright, but not obnoxious lighting came from the many candles that were placed around the room. She noticed a copy of Hannibal on the organ, and she briefly wondered about it before she saw the dance practice floor. She was tempted to cry, or laugh, or something. There was no possible way she could express her gratitude. There was a sturdy wood bar for her to warmup on, and many mirrors, with wood underneath it all. Moreover, there was a leotard and tights of the finest quality she had seen in a while there, hanging on a chair, and a pair of new pointe shoes.

Noelle wanted to faint, but then she could not practice. She decided to do neither at the moment, but instead turned around to face the only reason she had all of this. The Phantom was standing there, with a subtle, almost amused look on his face. She hoped that he didn't think her foolish. This seemed like heaven to her, though. It was amazing. She had seen the ballet practice rooms for chorus girls, and had been disgusted. They were filthy, often falling apart, and barely in better condition then the slums. This, though, this was... incredible.

"It's amazing," Noelle gasped to the Phantom. She knew it was foolish, but did not care. She had to express her awe and gratitude now... she just had to. She felt an odd thrill when he looked down, almost embarrassed. She pressed on, wanting to reach him. She did not care that he was a feared apparition, she simply wanted to acknowledge the fact that she was grateful, very grateful that he brought her here.

"Thank you," she whispered huskily. He looked up above her head, and she saw pleasure, unmistakable pleasure flash in the green orbs she had noticed earlier.

"It is good enough to teach you," he said, almost admonishing her eagerness. She nodded, and collected herself with one breath. She stood by the organ, wondering if he was going to play it. He moved slowly across the room, with dignity in every step. He caught her eyes and held them. She was finally able to look away, and it seemed torture to her. There was a way the Phantom moved, something in the simple way he _was,_ that captured her, held her. Noelle had never felt this way with a man, even though she had flirted with many. It terrified her and warmed her at the same time, she thought, even as the object of her desire sat down and opened the opera that she was to sing from.

* * *

Erik raised an eyebrow at her. He did not know what she had said, her first reaction to his coming, and wished to find out.

"Come again, dear?"

Noelle raised her chin, revealing to him the soft, straight curve of her jaw, leading down to her throat to form a picture of classic beauty. She was intoxicating to him.

"I thought I was dreaming before. Now I see that I was not." She whispered this in her clear, melodic voice, but not quiet enough that he could not hear her.

He raised his right eyebrow.

"No, you were not. I am very real."

She nodded and then paused for a moment, to take a calming breath. She was strong, and he admired that.

"I am here to instruct you in the art of music," he said smoothly after the awkward silence they endured.

Noelle smirked, a sarcastic gesture on her soft, angelic lips.

"I have already had lessons in music, monsieur."

Erik nodded with a flourish of his long, black cape.

"That may be so, but your tutor could have only taught you the... mechanics of vocalizing. I," he stepped gently closer to her, "Will teach you passion." He gently stroked the line of her jaw, which abruptly softened, then hardened. He stepped back, hurt. He could not bear even the slightest indication of discomfort that she had showed at one of his actions. It was obvious that he would have to be gentle with her, and treat her softly.

With this in mind, he warned, "I shall have to blindfold you." Noelle nodded briefly. He would do that so she could not come prying later into his chambers. He valued his privacy, and there also were dangers below the opera-house that it would be best for her to stay away from.

He brought out a piece of the softest ruby silk from a pocket. He gently looped it over her forehead to where it touched her softly closed eyelids, tenderly but firmly, so that she could not see anything, but was comfortable. He tied the knot at the end, trying desperately not to shiver at the warm contact with her skin, or the way her soft, sleek blonde hair moved over his hand. Even through the glove, he could feel it.

He warned with sudden tenderness, "Stay there." Erik then crossed the room to the corridor from which he had come. Then, he heard two high, loud, lilting voices that could only belong to Christine Daee and Meg Giry.

"No, he would be proud of you, Christine," Meg said in the near distance. "You are a good singer, and you are happy. The way you describe your father to me, wherever he is, he probably could not be more proud."

Erik opened the drape that was hidden in shadows to reveal a mirror, which he promptly proceeded to open. He then took Noelle's hand, and quickly pulled her into the mirror with him. He then closed the drape and shut the mirror. Fortunately, the girl had remained silent throughout all of this, for which he was grateful. He pulled her into the darkly lit, damp corridor, breathing heavily, his chest moving up and down in the rapid movement of breathing. He looked at her, and there was no reaction of hers that he could observe.

Meg and Christine came into the room, smiling and laughing, then their attitudes becoming more solemn.

"Well, I... will leave you here," Mme. Giry's daughter said uncertainly.

"Thanks, Meg," Christine smiled sadly. "I need to be alone now."

The Phantom, in the nearby passageway, began to move down, with Noelle's hand in a soft, but firm grip that would not mislead her.

"Christine and Meg were in there, and they did not see us." It was not a statement; she was admitting to him that she knew that.

"Yes, my darling." Erik's voice took on an odd tone. He was eager to get out of these corridors, and into the room he had prepared to teach her in. This place was no place for her. Even now, her angelic beauty stood out clearly against the dark, oppressive corridor. She was too beautiful for this place, he realized. Too beautiful for him.

He lead her into a room that he had prepared especially for her. For her voice.

Erik gently slipped the soft blindfold from Noelle's hair and face, gently. She then looked around, marveling in everything. He caught a glimpse of her face, and there were tears in her eyes. She suddenly turned around, and seemed euphoric.

"It's.. amazing!" She gasped to him. "Thank you," she whispered huskily. That was when he first caught a glimpse of her, as she was, with no barriers or walls. Her soul was beautiful and pure, and he secretly reveled in that fact.

He stood without a smile, trying to look unmoved by her awe. Erik remembered the days of preparation this room had taken, precious time away from Don Juan. He had thought of her when he had made this room; her smiling in it as she stretched in the slow, sometimes tortuous movements of ballet adagio; her singing the music he wrote, her being _happy_. He saw now that she exceeded his expectations. And he could do nothing to show his gratitude, or even happiness.

"It is good enough to teach you." He reminded himself that he had to remain the Phantom for now. No Erik could shine through. It was necessary. She had to learn to trust him, before he could learn to trust her. No one had ever loved him before, ever even learned who he was, or liked him. The closest people that had even come close had been the elder Giry and his mother. He did not blame them. How could they not? He was a monster, a despicable thing.

Noelle nodded and stood expectantly by the organ, some of the many masks she wore over her personality returning. Pity, he thought. She truly was beautiful, and no amount of masks or simple, high-collared brown dresses could cover that up.

* * *

_Michael slapped her, a large, full one that encompassed her face with his large palm. _

"_You don't run away from me, whore!" He snarled. She whimpered, trying to get free. He whispered in her ear, as a lover might, "There is no escape now." _

_Before she knew what was happening, she found her dress pulled up to her waist, him pressed forcefully against her, and abrupt pain everywhere, searing, coming from the place she had never allowed herself to be touched. She screamed then, a loud, shrill sound of terror. She knew what had happened then. She knew what Michael had done to her. His leering, dark face was above her, the face that still haunted her dreams. _

_Rage came to her then, blinding and angry. This filth had dared assault her, _rape her_. Even as he ravaged her body, she saw the dagger he had so carelessly dropped beside her. He was busy, and did not notice her. Another wave of pain ripped through her body, and she felt as if she could hardly move. But move she did. Michael grabbed her savagely and ran his hands across her. She would forever feel dirty after that, unclean. _

_He eased off of her and slapped her again, thinking to be done with her. He turned around, buttoning his pants, obviously intending to just leave her there in the street, lying there, battered. She grabbed the knife then, and ignoring the blood that flowed from below her waist, madly tackled him, adrenalin and rage outweighing common sense. She held the dagger to his throat now, anger filling her whole. She let it spill out in the version of a yell, the pain of the forceful rape and loss of her virginity coming out at once; _

"_YOU PIG! YOU DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU PIECE OF TRASH! YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME!" _

_Noelle held the knife at his throat, knowing that she could end his measly life then, that it would be doing the world a service. Her hand tightened around the knife, and— _

**Lol, I love cliffies when I'm writing them. Sorry! So, liked it hated it? Please review. I am very open to suggestion. This was a very difficult chapter to write (the part about her being raped), and thanks a lot for all the support! **


	6. A Song and Dance

**Chapter 6**

**Thanks for all the reviews! Thanks, An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin. If you really want to, you can look back and see that I changed that. Constructive criticism is much appreciated ;) Thanks, the Irish lass. I've always thought Noelle was a pretty name. Alright, here goes; **

Noelle, with some trepidation, watched the Phantom step forward and sit on the organ bench. It was clear he knew how to play. He looked at her expectantly.

"Care to warm up, my dear?" She nodded silently. He then took her through varied vocal exercises. She sang some trills, and many scales with chords that she would sing, pronouncing the sharp staccato notes 'ah.' During this, she watched his hands and fingers as they played. He played the instrument as if it were a sensitive, living thing. He gently stroked and caressed the keys with care. He had taken the black gloves off, and his fingers were long and handsome. He would sometimes close his eyes, as if envisioning something as she sang. His fingers never halted, though.

She was then done warming up. The Phantom opened the score to an aria in the third act, entitled 'Think of Me.' Noelle frowned, debating on weather to ask a question. Finally, she gave in to her curious and impertinent side.

"Why am I learning an aria which will be sung by Carlotta, and which I have no chance of singing?" she asked tentatively. He looked at her, green eyes seeming amused.

"What makes you think that you will not sing it?" he asked. She found that all her answers slipped away at his gaze, something in it overpowering her ability to speak. He nodded, and began to play at the beginning. Noelle was immediately distracted by the way he played each note, the way he lingered on just the right ones, and the way he flourished them. There was a passion about the way he played, she realized, a passion that almost frightened her. Then the music stopped, and she almost opened her eyes to protest. It was only then that she realized she had shut them, listening to the music.

The Phantom gave her a strange look. She did not know what to say. The way he played the music had somehow enveloped her... and she did not even like the song, from what she had seen and heard of it.

"Pardon me," she said, her voice cold, now that she was in control of herself. "I am ready to start now."

He played the music. Thankfully, Noelle knew how to read music. Her old teacher had taught her that. She started out in a clear soprano.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye..."

The Phantom stopped playing and cut her off. A frown was on his face. Noelle briefly wondered if her singing had displeased him. Oh well... he was the one that wanted her to sing. He shook his head.

"No... not like that. You must feel the song, deep in your bones." He stroked his chin in thought. He then gently stood up and came to her, softly. He stood behind her. Noelle did not move, she was so startled. He caressed her neck and shoulders, his gentle hands moving over her body so smoothly she could not protest. He began to whisper in her ear.

"You meet a man. It does not matter who he is or what he looks like. You talk to him, long conversations about love and life. He kisses you, slow and gentle." Noelle closed her eyes and swallowed. She began to wonder if she was sane or not. She felt sheer sensuality in that moment. She had never felt like this before, not while she was flirting; not ever. The Phantom moved to her other ear. "You begin to fall in love with him. Then, he tells you that he has to go, that he has to leave you, for adventure, far a different life." His lips felt good, natural against her ear. She could drown herself in his voice, get lost in it and never emerge.

He had stepped away from her. She suddenly felt weak, as if she could fall down at any moment. She braced herself and came back to reality. She was here, deep in the layers of the Opera Populaire in Paris, with the legendary Phantom. Still, the memory of his words and the feelings they evoked did not fade. They remained permanently imprinted in her memory.

The Phantom sat down on the organ bench once again. His eyes never left hers. "This is the song you sing to him once you are gone. You are not angry with him, but wish him a good life. Try this again."

Noelle closed her eyes. The memories of Michael and that night threatened to come tumbling back. She tried desperately to remember the peace she had felt at his words. She was tumbling around in the darkness, lost and lonely. His voice and the enchantment she had felt at it was her only light, her strong point. She clutched onto it and began to sing, just at the part when the music started.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try." She opened her eyes and looked into the distance, imagining that she was singing this to an actual man, the man that Michael should have been. "If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." She took a breath at the short interlude she had to breathe. She reminded herself to use diaphragm control. "We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea," Noelle's face changed into one that felt heartbreak and love at the same time, "But if you can still remember, stop and think of me." She stopped and took another breath. The accompaniment was all around her, swirling in patterns of gold.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen... don't think about the way things might have been." This was the first time she had caught a glimpse of the Phantom's face during the song. His eyes were closed in rapture, although his fingers still played. She felt a sudden up welling of joy at the thought that she, Noelle, might have caused this joy that he felt. She began to sing, louder and with more passion.

"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned... imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind..." She gently hit the octave jumps with grace and softness. She moved closer to the Phantom, whose eyes were still closed. "Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do..." She trailed off and her hands came almost close enough, but not quite, to touch the Phantom's shoulders. "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."

She stepped back, and the Phantom's eyes flew open as he began to play the accompaniment with fever. For her, the spell was not broken, and she waited gently until her part came. It came, after the many upwellings and surgings of the music.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we," she began softly and gently, and gradually began the crescendo. "But please promise me that sometimes, you will think..." She closed her eyes now, with the gentle sway of the music. She began the vocalizing then, soft yet strong staccato. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, Ahh oof me!" She sang loudly, as the music required. He finished it with a flourish. Noelle looked upon him then, and a question bubbled to her lips, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What is your name? I mean, you must have some other way to be called then 'Phantom.'"

She saw for a moment, unveiled green eyes flash with unease. She quickly saw barriers come to him, as quickly as they had been let down.

"You may call me either 'Phantom' or 'Master,'" the Phantom said coldly. Noelle felt hurt, deep in herself, a hurt that she did not know she had the capacity to feel.

"I see," she said coldly. "Well, _Phantom_, may I practice my ballet skills now?" He nodded, and Noelle forced her barriers up again, until there were no feelings of anger or forlornness. Her heart was encased in ice once again.

Noelle walked over to the bar and began a plier combination, ignoring the eyes that were watching her. She pretended there was music for her to warmup to, counting in her head four/four time. She pirouetted to the other side, and began again. But before she did, she heard organ music begin to play, in perfect rhythm to the combination she had just finished. She looked over to see the Phantom playing. His green eyes met hers, and she could not help but feel a thrill. She began again, finishing the simple combination with no flourishes.

She began a slow tendue combination, tenderly bending her leg to the beat of the music he played. Noelle began to feel passion then, deep in her stomach, soft tendrils of it beginning to waft upwards, until it encompassed her entire body. She became a tool of the music and the dance.

She finished warming up gradually with a ronde de jambe, frappe, and then finally adagio and grande battement combination. She had danced with passion, more then she had ever felt before. She had danced for him, she realized. The man who refused to even tell her his name. She had decided that he was a man, after all.

She began a combination of leaps and jumps then. His music danced with her, quick beats prompting the flying arabesques, splits and jumps. She finished, and began a slow, tortuous dance. She looked at him, and it took him a moment to come up with the music. He began something of the like which Noelle had never heard before. It was passionate, and her gestures were as well. They were seductive, coming from her very soul. She had never danced like that. She had not realized that she could. She stared at him the whole time, and he stared at her back. His music danced with her, with a slow, aching beat that made her almost roll her eyes up into her head in pleasure. She finished the dance, and sweat was darting down her skin in rivulets and streams.

It was only then that she realized what she had done. She had done it again. She had thrown herself wantonly on a man. She may not have done that actually, but the way she had danced, and the way she had looked at him was enough. Noelle stepped back, horrified. Her eyes were full of only Michael then, and only him. She could not see anything else. She closed her eyes and groped around blindly for her coverup robe. Once her body was thoroughly hidden, she opened her eyes, and could breathe again. She became aware of him then, sitting behind her.

"I want to go back now." Her voice was frigid and icy. She had to show him that she was not interested. She did not know what had come upon her while she had danced, but she would make sure that it never happened again.

He almost touched her shoulder, concern clearly plastered on his face. "Is something wrong?" He was frowning, and was clearly upset, concerned for her. Noelle made sure not to let that touch her in any way.

"No," she said clearly, "I am fine, but wish to be returned."

He stood up, and his eyes were cold, ever so cold. She felt a little frightened for her safety in that moment. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, until he spoke again.

"I will never hold you here or anywhere else against your will." The Phantom's voice was almost indignant, as if he was offended by the mere suggestion that he would harm her. "I will have to blindfold you again, however," he warned. Noelle nodded, and reflected on his promise as fingers that were significantly less tender tied the blindfold around her eyes. She wondered if he would stick to his word, and if she was really safe in his company. She remembered then the hand that had lead her here, the way she had willingly gone with him. If he had wanted to hurt her, he surely would have done so by now, she mused.

Perhaps she could trust him. She would have to learn how to if he was to continue to teach her. But she vowed that she would never dance again as she had for him. Never again, she thought.

The Phantom's hand lead her down once more to the chapel. She once more heard the familiar click and whoosh as she breathed new air. The blindfold was once more removed, and she turned around quickly. She wanted to say goodbye to this man, and to thank him for what he had done. But as she turned around, there was no one there. She took this as an insult, as though he could not bear to have her see him again.

She sighed, and said into the empty air, "I am sorry, and I thank you. But I can never dance like that again. I do not know what came over me, and I was not myself. If that is what you expect, then you can forget me." Noelle was not even sure if he heard it or not. Either way, she felt better. She nodded and stepped up the stone stairs. It was only then that she realized that she must have been there for many hours, for she was suddenly hungry. She looked down at her toe-shoes, and realized that they were ruined, victims of her passion-fest. She bit her lip and went to go get some food.

* * *

Erik stepped gently over to the organ. She was watching him. He could not help what wonder what thoughts might have been hidden behind those crystal clear blue eyes.

"Care to warm up, my dear?" he asked. She was still staring at him with those unfathomable blue eyes. Noelle nodded then at him. He took off the black gloves he wore and began to play for her various vocal exercises needed to warm up. Sometimes, he would close his eyes, imagining her singing the various songs and duets he had composed. He felt... inspired. Perhaps when he went home, he would compose songs more songs for her to sing. He imagined her beautiful voice softly going over the notes he had already composed in his mind.

"Why am I learning an aria which will be sung by Carlotta, and which I have no chance of singing?" she asked tentatively. Erik smiled at her. He was amused that she still thought that overstuffed banshee would sing in his opera house.

"What makes you think that you will not sing it?" he asked. Noelle made no further comment. He watched the expression in her eyes go to stunned. He opened the score, wondering if she now realized how he intended to make her great. For he did. She was the only one whom he could deem worthy to be great, to truly sing in his opera. He allowed his mind to wander briefly, imagining the whole world embracing her and loving her. The vision brought a smile to his lips which he was quick to make disappear. For now, he must be the uncaring Phantom.

He began, fondling the notes gently, feeling the song. It came time for her part, and she did not sing. Puzzled, Erik looked over to her. Could she not read music? When he looked at her, he was surprised at what he saw. Her eyes were just opening, and he saw ecstacy in them. She had been enjoying his music. He felt a surge of happiness that she might have had pleasure from hearing him play. That was what he wanted to give her; pleasure.

"Pardon me," she said to Erik coldly. The look he had seen was gone now, replaced with a cold mask of indifference, the same kind he had given her earlier. "I am ready to start now." he began to play. He could feel her behind him, reading the music.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye..." She sang sweetly. He shook his head. She was simply singing it. That was not good enough. She had to feel the emotion behind the words, or else it meant nothing. He frowned. How could he get her to understand?

"No... not like that. You must feel the song, deep in your bones," he said at her look of confusion. Erik decided on a way to make her understand. He felt a strange heat which coursed up and down the length of his body as he got up to her. His ungloved hands gently caressed and massaged her. It felt so good to be able to touch her like he had been wanting to touch a woman for so long, he thought. But that was not his purpose.

He began to whisper in her ear, "You meet a man. It does not matter who he is or what he looks like. You talk to him, long conversations about love and life. He kisses you, slow and gentle."Erik felt the words, swiftly fall from his tongue. He did not know where they came from, what it was about this woman that made him feel this way. Erik heard her swallow. He hoped that was a good sign. He moved over to her other ear. "You begin to fall in love with him. Then, he tells you that he has to go, that he has to leave you, for adventure, far a different life."

He managed to pull away from her. It was difficult, and took all of his willpower and strength. He sat down on the organ bench once again, remembering why he had done this, why he had satisfied and tormented himself at the same time.

"This is the song you sing to him once you are gone. You are not angry with him, but wish him a good life. Try this again."

He watched her close her eyes. He hoped that she would remember what he had said, and the _feeling_ of the words. He began to play, softly at first, not to interrupt her. She began.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try." He was tempted to smile. She was doing it. She felt the emotion behind the words, and she was transferring it into her voice. Erik was awed and proud at the same time. "If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." He continued to play, the notes bending seamlessly into one another. "We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea, But if you can still remember, stop and think of me." Erik had to remind himself to breathe. Her voice was that of an angel, he decided.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen... don't think about the way things might have been." Erik closed his eyes, allowing her voice to permeate his entire consciousness. It filled him and renewed him. She kept singing, louder now.

"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned... imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind..." Erik felt her move closer to him. He smiled and kept playing, his eyes still closed. He only had needed to practice this once, and he had memorized it. It was a fairly simple piece, after all. "Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do..." She trailed off. Erik could feel her hands. They were almost on his shoulders. He almost shuddered with secret longing, the longing to be touched, to be loved. "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."

Erik's eyes flew open. With her voice gone, he could now concentrate solely on the music. The magic did not leave him, however, and he still played with emotion and passion.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we," Erik closed his eyes again. Her voice was sheer pleasure. "But please promise me that sometimes, you will think..." Erik opened his eyes. He wanted to hear this part, to take her in whiles her was singing this. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, Aah oof me!" Erik smiled as she hit the last note. She had done the whole thing perfectly. He ended with a happy flourish.

Just as he finished, a voice asked unexpectedly, "What is your name? I mean, you must have some other way to be called then 'Phantom.'"

Erik quickly panicked. He was not ready to tell her his name. He had only known her two days, and was not even sure if he trusted her yet. If he told her his name, it would imply some sort of commitment, commitment that he was not yet ready to make.

"You may call me either 'Phantom' or 'Master,'" Erik said coldly. The remark was worse then he had wanted it to be, but either way, he got his point across. He saw hurt flash across her face. He frowned. He had not wanted to hurt her.

"I see," she said coldly. "Well, _Phantom_, may I practice my ballet skills now?" Erik's nostrils flamed a little at the cold remark, but he nodded all the same.

She walked across to the bar, and began a combination. He frowned as he realized that she was dancing to music that wasn't there. He did not know much ballet, but maybe... He stepped over, and, before she could begin the other side, he began to play. She looked over, and blue, piercing eyes met his. He raised an eyebrow. She looked down, but complied. No words were necessary between them.

She danced for him. He knew it was for him. It was beautiful... she was beautiful. The passion that she danced with was... amazing. The leaps and jumps were amazing; incredible. It almost seemed to Erik that she was not human, that she was some other creature of grace.

Then she began the slow dance. He saw her begin, her hands reaching and grasping in the motions of a slow, passionate dance. He hesitated. He knew the perfect song... but should he play it? The look in her eyes was enough. He began to play, gently stroking and caressing each note, until the whole thing became a work of art, slowly twisting and unfurling in sync to her emotive dancing.

She danced, the fervor of her steps becoming more and more seductive. That was what she was, he realized. A seductress. She was seducing him in dance. A slow, warm heat began to pulse through him, until it became a fiber of his soul, writhing within him. Two could play at this game. He began to seduce her with his song, the fury of his pent-up passion beginning to shine through in the way he played the music.

Her eyes, burning and passionate, were boring into his. He finished the song, then, the music slowly dying out. It was then that everything shattered. She turned away from him, as if she could no longer bear his eyes on her. Her eyes were large and panicked, more fearful then he had ever seen them. Erik though he saw her lips move, as if there was something, some word, some name, that she could not bear to speak. She backed up, her eyes glazed. She did not see him.

He saw her grasp for her robe. Erik swallowed and almost got up to help, before he figured that would not be the best thing to do. What was wrong with her, he wondered. He was concerned, desperately concerned about her. The look she had just a moment ago tore at his heart-strings. He finally decided that he had to do something. She had finished tying the robe around her waist, and had her back to him. Erik came and sat behind her, wondering what could have happened to turn the woman who had danced so skillfully into this frightened, fragile creature.

"I want to go back now." Erik frowned. What had he done? What made her want to leave? Perhaps she was sick. He felt an instant sense of regret. Dancing took a lot out of a person. He had not thought to deal with time. There was no need for him to use it. She was probably hungry too.

"Is something wrong?" Erik asked, letting his concern for her spill over.

"No," she said clearly, "I am fine, but wish to be returned." She looked at him now, straight in the eyes. It was a look that accused him of something, although he did not know what. She was angry with him, although he could not think of any reason. Erik stood up. Anger flooded over him. He had not done anything wrong, and already she was angry with him. There was no chance of anything, then, if she already was beginning to loathe him.

Once more, he saw fear in her eyes, and he took it as heavily as a blow. She could not fear him. Had he done a single thing wrong? What had he done, to provoke this?

"I will never hold you here or anywhere else against your will."Erik's voice threatened to catch, betraying his emotions. "I will have to blindfold you again, however," he warned. The fear was gone from her eyes, and she coldly stood. Fine, he thought. He tied the blindfold once more around her eyes, no longer attempting to be gentle. He was not rough, but did not spare her the care he had before. He took her down to the chapel, hurrying this time. He wanted to be rid of her now. He still noticed her beauty, and it was haunting to him.

As soon as she was in the chapel, he took her blindfold off and stood behind the drape once more, almost in one smooth motion. He was stalking down the corridors before he heard her voice. He paused and listened to it for a moment.

She sighed, and said into the empty air, "I am sorry, and I thank you. But I can never dance like that again. I do not know what came over me, and I was not myself. If that is what you expect, then you can forget me." Her voice had an odd mix of apology and anger in it. He frowned and watched her through a cleverly disguised hole. She looked at her ballet shoes, and it was clear to him that they were ruined.

Erik sighed. In the heat of the moment, both he and she had forgotten the new ballet attire that he had purchased. Instant regret came over him. She had given him a gift, and then taken it away. All was well still. He did not feel angry any more. Now, he would give her the new clothes. As he walked away, he thought of one more thing.

Using all the secrets of ventriloquy, he pitched his voice so it seemed that he was speaking in Noelle's ear.

"I will see you again."


	7. A Meal

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Just for your information, I will try to update from now on at least once a week. School is really taking its toll on me. I've noticed that it's been eating my dividers:( Ah, well here goes! Don't worry, there will be plenty of Erik to come! ;) **

Noelle's stomach rumbled gently. She ignored it. She had dealt with hunger before, and she would deal with this accordingly. She walked along the hallways, traveling wearily to rest. But before she was gone, a voice whispered gently in her ear,

"I will see you again." She whirled around, heart thumping wildly, looking for the source of the voice. But there was no one there. She tightened her robe unconsciously as she recognized it as the voice of the Phantom. A twisted sneer came over her face. Full of surprises tonight, aren't we, she thought, amused. _But he will see me again. _It was both a promise and a threat, echoing around in her brain. _I will see you again_.

Noelle was so lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the petite figure that came towards her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Noelle spun around, almost hitting Meg Giry.

"Sorry," Noelle muttered. It had been a long day, and after all that had just happened with the Phantom, she was uneasy and jumpy. She gently slipped the robe from her shoulders. She was too hot to wear it right now.

"Bon jour, Noelle," said the other ballet dancer. A quizzical smile was on the petite dancer's face.

"You don't look too well," frowned Meg.

Noelle sighed inwardly. Once more, she was assaulted by maturity. She felt ages older then the girl (she could not bring herself to think of the younger giry as a woman) who stood before her. Noelle also knew that what the other dancer was seeing was the signs of her fatigue. She was careful to hide the tips of her shoes behind her feet as well as she could. It was shameful to Noelle. Even now, she did not know what she would do. Noelle would not accept charity from anyone. She was far too proud for that.

"I'm alright... just tired," Noelle half-whispered. She felt worn and useless.

Meg frowned once more. The young dancer did not believe that Noelle was completely alright. She saw a half-dry sheen of sweat covering the other dancer's body, and her shoes were worn through. She had been dancing hard. Meg knew that dancing hard took a lot out of someone. She had discovered this through her own painful experiences. Noelle needed to eat and then sleep. Meg found that this was the thing that worked for herself the best.

"Well... mother and I were wondering if you would like to dine with us."

Noelle found herself strangely touched by the gesture. She would accept this gesture of kindness. It would feel good to be with other, civil human beings for a little bit. She remembered a time before Michael's rape, when she had regularly gone out to eat with other women and men, who were kind and friendly. She missed that. And it is your fault that you do not have that anymore, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. You, Noelle de Chanter, were the one that provoked him to do what he did. It is your fault. Noelle forced the voice from her mind.

"I would be honored," Noelle said. She smiled at Meg, a forced smile that only existed because of social necessity. She had been raised well (even though her eventual downfall was ignoring her mother's teachings), and she would show it. She remembered social mannerisms from a life that almost seemed not to be real, not to be the one she used to live.

Meg smiled, a smile that illuminated her face.

"Very well. We shall pick you up in half an hour. Don't be late!"

Noelle nodded, and then waited until the other girl was gone. She felt like slumping against the wall, exhausted, but somehow motivated herself to get up. It was most likely the promise of food. She would not have time to take a bath, which was what she really felt like doing, but would instead would wash her upper body, including her face. There would be no time to wash her hair.

She hurried down the hall. She had checked out the bathrooms. They were hardly sanitary, but they would have to do. She could not complain. She had a bath, courtesy of Mme. Giry, before she auditioned, but had not taken a bath before that in weeks, perhaps months. No one cared about personal hygiene when they were trying desperately not to starve to death.

Noelle arrived and looked around her once again. There was gray tile all around, and grime everywhere. She grimaced and turned on a faucet to wash herself with a hardly sanitary bar of soap. There was no one else there, and she finished quickly. There was no makeup. That was alright; Noelle wore none. She dressed in a dark green, high-collared, stiff-fronted dress. She looked at herself in the mirror, hoping she looked acceptable. The face in the mirror seemed to mock her, staring back at her with an unreadable expression. She grimaced at it, and it grimaced back.

Finally, she went back to the ballet dormitories, which were now filled with chorus girls, or ballet rats, as she had learned they were called from listening to last night's gossip. _Last night._ It had only been a day and a half ago when this madness had all started. Noelle closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Meg was waiting for her, somehow slipping out of all the bustle to come over to her.

"Let's go," said the blonde happily. She lead Noelle out into the corridor, where the elder Giry and Christine Daee were waiting.

"Bon jour," whispered Noelle. She was not sure how to behave in front of Madame Giry, and so kept her face tilted towards the ground.

Cold but kind, strong fingers caught and held her chin. She looked up into Madame Giry's brown eyes.

"There is no need to be so formal with me, child," the elder woman said in a thick French accent. "Come, let's to supper."

They went to an middle-class restaurant; middle-class because it was not one of the ones where you were seated and waited on hand and foot. Noelle counted the money in her purse and almost grimaced. She hoped she would at least have enough to pay for her own portion of food.

They sat down and placed their orders. Noelle watched the other women at the table moodily, only half-listening. Her thoughts began to wander slowly back to the experience she had before, with the strange man who refused to tell her his name. If he had a name besides Phantom, that was...

Noelle would not have known that she was being spoken to unless Christine Daee had nudged her gently. She stared at the other girl's soft, curling brown hair, slowly coming back to reality.

"I asked if you like it here at the Opera Populaire," Mme. Giry repeated, a slight frown on her face.

"Yes, it is... nice," managed Noelle. "I am very glad to be here." There was no way Noelle could express her gratitude to Madame Giry for not first turning her away immediately at the door. But to do that, she would have to explain the reason she had become poor, and that would be too much. The older woman had asked no questions, immediately accepting her.

Madame Giry had took one look at Noelle, and had immediately offered to pay for the meal. Noelle had declined politely at first; she detested charity. But then she had took one look at the menu and blanched. She could not afford anything on the menu. Her face burning with shame, she had asked if Madame Giry's offer was still valid. No one had seemed to notice her faux pass, and she was grateful.

Noelle ate her dinner quickly but with great relish. Everything was a delight. She could have hardly cared though; it was food. It would have to tide her over until lunch the next day. She was offered wine, but declined. She had grown to loathe it after her rape. She watched as the rest of the women ate, still not finished. Noelle had learned to eat her food quickly before it could be stolen from her. She watched Meg and Christine laugh, and felt a pang of envy. It had been a long time since she had been that carefree. She wondered if she ever would be again.

"I... must leave," she said into the silence at the table. Guilt tore at her. She had not been very good conversation. It's your fault, the voices in her head whispered. This, Michael, everything. It's all your fault. You should just crawl into a corner and stop being a drain on the world, the voices beguiled her. She ignored them as best she could.

"Thank you for this. It was... wonderful," Noelle breathed as she stood up and walked away. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts, she did not notice that the elder Giry had left the table, after putting a hand on the younger's arm.

Noelle stepped out into the street. She was tempted to scream, or to cry. Emotion seemed to want to burst from her, in a wave that she knew was inappropriate. She felt a hand on her arm, and almost recoiled before she realized it was Mme. Giry's.

"I'm sorry... did I startle you?" the ballet mistress was quick to ask.

"It's alright," said Noelle. There was a bit of a pause before the elder woman asked another question.

"Noelle, what happened to you before you came here?" She asked quickly. Noelle almost recoiled in shock from that question. She decided to answer it cryptically.

"We all have our own demons, Madame," Noelle said with a sneer. Madame Giry nodded distrustfully.

"You know you are safe at the Opera Populaire," said Madame Giry. Noelle nodded, almost smirking. The Phantom had said something like that. She was as safe as she could be from everyone else; the only danger now came from herself.

"That will be all," the ballet mistress said with a trace of almost motherly tenderness in her voice.

Noelle nodded and walked down the street, eyes straight ahead, clouded and unreadable with thought and hurt. She did not even feel the concerned eyes watching her go.

* * *

Antoinette watched Noelle leave. A frown was on her face. Something Noelle had said... _We all have our_ _demons. _It reminded her of Erik. The girl herself almost reminded her of Erik... the way she moved, the constant sadness in her eyes. She wondered what Erik thought of Noelle. She would doubtless find out, in the next letter he sent to her. She felt sorry for the girl. Whatever had happened to her, it must have been bad.

Antoinette put those thoughts from her mind as she looked to her daughter. A smile swept across her face as she thought of her little Meg. Her little Meg who was not so little anymore. Almost all thoughts of Noelle faded as she sat down to eat with her two daughters, for that was how she thought of them.


	8. A Room

Noelle walked back to the Opera Populaire. She did not see anyone; they were like wraiths, nameless people, shifting around her. The only thing she saw was Michael, leering at her, feeling her. She wanted to wash his touch away from her, but she could not.

Somehow, she made it into the dormitories. There was no one there. She realized with a grimness that they were all out partying, or doing other activities under the cover of night. Groaning, she changed into her still-too-big nightgown and lay on her bed. The voice in her mind taunted her, calling her a whore. Noelle was tempted to clutch her head and groan like a madwoman, but she knew that would not drive the voice away. She was many things, but she was not crazy.

No, the voice was more like her mother's. Noelle had told her that she had been raped, but her mother, Camille, had not cared. She accused her of lying, trying to cover herself. The last sentence her mother had spoken to her rang in her mind; _And if you were raped, you deserved it! You little whore, you are _no longer _my daughter! _Noelle sighed and remained throughout the night a tormented soul. The other dancers came and talked in loud voices, drinking various liquors, but Noelle did not see them or hear them.

She must have drifted off to sleep eventually, though. She knew this because she felt small little hands shaking her awake. Noelle blinked the nightmares slowly from her eyes to see the face of a dancer she identifies as Jammes scowling at her. She looked around to see that all eyes were on her. Noelle swallowed and wondered what she had done.

Jammes sighed and asked "Who is going to go get Mme. Giry?" A petite brunette volunteered, quickly leaving the room.

"What's going on?" Noelle asked. No one seemed to want to answer, but shifted around uncomfortably.

The girl who had told the awful story of 'The Phantom of the Opera,' whom Noelle identified as Leona, was the only one brave enough to manage a response.

"You were screaming in your sleep," the redhead managed uncomfortably. "Nightmares. None of us could sleep." Noelle nodded and looked down at her hands. So, she was disturbing the other 'ballet rats' with her dreams. She did not feel any resentment towards them. She carried too much hatred for herself to feel any for anyone else.

The brunette returned with Mme. Giry, who was wearing a dark green robe over a nightgown. Noelle swallowed and looked down. The ballet mistress frowned.

"Why have I been called here, at all hours of the night?" Meg's mother asked.

Jammes was apparently the group's elected spokesperson.

"It's Noelle," the small raven-haired ballerina said, meeting the older woman's powerful scowl uncomfortably. "She had... nightmares, ad none of us can sleep."

Mme. Giry looked at Noelle, who refused to meet her gaze, putting her hands in her lap. Noelle remembered what she had said to the older woman; _We all have our own demons, Madame. _

The ballet mistress sighed, exasperated.

"Come with me, Mademoiselle Chanter. And bring your things." Noelle obeyed. All she had to do was pick up her clothes, which were wrapped in a dirty cloth. She had gotten used to moving; that was the life on the street. She did not meet any eyes. In a way, she was glad. She would not have to pretend now to be like them, to smile and laugh and flirt. Now, Noelle could be peacefully alone.

Mme. Giry closed the door behind her. Noelle stood awkwardly shifting her bundle from arm to arm. The older woman looked at Noelle, managing to catch her gaze. Noelle swallowed, seeing something akin to pity in the older woman's eyes. No! Her mind screamed. She did not want pity or charity; had never asked for it. It was a struggle for her to even accept the nightgown.

"Come, child," the older woman said. Noelle followed her, walking down many corridors until she came to a hallway with many doors. Mme. Giry stopped suddenly in front of a door, Noelle stopping with her.

"Usually, only the more... advanced dancers have rooms for themselves," the ballet mistress said. Noelle understood. The more people they brought in, the better quality of rooms they had. "But, in your case," Mme. Giry continued, "I will make an exception." She opened the door to the room. Noelle wanted at first to laugh.

The room was spectacular. There was a large bed with a blue silk canopy on one side, with a night stand of dark wood by it. The dresser was large and magnificent, with more room in it then she could possibly ever need. There were counters there also, built doubtless to accommodate countless flowers from admirers. They were empty. There was a vanity, with room for makeup and jewelry that she did not have. The walls were beautifully painted and adorned.

But the thing she noticed the most was the mirror, a large golden mirror that rested on one side of the wall. Noelle stepped over to it and gazed at herself. She possessed a sudden urge to cover the mirror. It showed her a haunted, but beautiful face that she barley recognized as her own. But she did not. She turned around to Mme. Giry and smiled.

"Thank you, Madame, but I could hardly accept such a room." The elder Giry walked towards her, lifting her chin gently. She found herself under the impenetrable gaze of the ballet mistress.

"He wants you here," the ballet mistress said cryptically. Noelle took in a breath, knowing what the woman meant by 'he.'

"The Phantom," Noelle breathed. He wanted her here? But why? This room was... amazing, but why would he want her in a room that should belong to a prima donna? The words of prophecy he had told her about Carlotta rang through her mind. He intends for me to replace Carlotta, she realized.

Noelle nodded, in control of herself once more, all her carefully crafted emotional masks back up.

"It will do," she said. Mme. Giry nodded and let herself out of the room. Noelle was left alone to sleep, which she did not. She thought she had enough of sleep, so instead climbed up into the gigantic bed and contemplated the strange matter of the Phantom. She did not realize that she had fallen asleep, but she did, and so woke the next morning.

The first thing that she noticed was the leotard, tights and ballet shoes from the amazing practice room on her vanity. She looked around, as if the Phantom would still be there. She bit her lip and whispered "Thank you."

Noelle got ready for her first practice, donning the leotard, tights, and ballet shoes, warming up quickly on the wooden bar that was placed also in the room. She was incredibly grateful for this room. The rooms the dancers were given to warm up in were a joke.

She went to the practice. It was alright, the chorus girls learning the part of dancing slavegirls quickly. It was a provocative dance that made Noelle uncomfortable; but it was better then being out on the streets. It was then that she first was introduced to la Carlotta and la Sorelli. The prima ballerina was an excellent dancer, but her attitude towards everyone else was almost laughable in its rudeness. Carlotta was worse, as she was an average singer who acted as if she was the only one who could even hold a note.

The rehearsal was soon over, and she returned to her room, exhausted. They had been fed sandwiches and soup, a thoroughly unsatisfying meal. She looked at the clock that was in the room and grimaced. They had been practicing for seven hours, with only a break for lunch. Her body was aching and sore. She removed her ballet shoes to see that her toes were bruised and bloody. She sighed and went over to the vanity, to see that there was lotion there, of the most exquisite type, made specifically for ballerinas. She put it on, then easily slipping her feet into shoes that were too big for her.

She sat, bored, uncertain of what to do. She crossed the room, going over to the bookshelf, which already had several novels on it. She briefly wondered if the previous owner had left some of their belongings behind. If they did, they had good taste. She read a novel speaking of dragons, and a strange fantasy world. So involved was she that she jumped when a loud voice echoed in her room.

"Noelle," it said, in strange, ringing tones. Nonetheless, she recognized it as the Phantom's. She smiled, and with a decisive snap, closed the book.

**A/N: About the POV dividers... Gah, the site was eating the dividers for the longest time for me. But it should be all right and fixed now. ;) Thanks again for all the feedback. And just so you know, Noelle is not crazy. **


	9. A Discussion

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Gah, school had been taking its toll on me lately... **

"Phantom," Noelle said. She was smirking, an obvious sign of self-satisfaction. She had been considering going out on the streets shopping, before she realized that they were the same streets which, under the cover of night, had swallowed whole her cries and moans for help.

"I am here, child." Noelle chafed a little bit after the 'child.' She was only twenty-two years old, but had experienced enough bitterness and pain to suit someone three times her age.

"I am no child," she said, half-mockingly. Her sharp tongue had lost none of its edge from being out on the streets.

The voice came back, with a tone of irritation in it.

"All the same, you must cover your eyes when I approach." Noelle obeyed, taking no chances. She wanted to see the Phantom. She remembered the events of the day before, but swore to herself that she would never loose control like that again.

She strained her ears for any slight thing that might indicate his approach, but there was nothing. She did not even know he was there until she felt a slight, gentle touch on her arm. She removed her hands from covering her eyes and looked back. The Phantom was standing there, with an unreadable expression on his face. He still made her take a breath, even though she had promised herself that she would not loose control.

"Sit, please," she said, trying hard to keep a tone of sarcasm out of her voice. The rehearsal had been tiring, and she felt mildly frustrated at anything and everything.

"I have so much room now," she continued upon seeing that he had not made a move to take a chair, "That it would be a shame not to take advantage of it."

"Do you like your new room?" asked the Phantom. Noelle noticed that he still did not take a seat. She nodded, words seeming not to come. She bit her lip and looked down. She had been bitter with him, and there was no reason for her to be.

"Please, sit," she asked again, more kind then she had been before. It had been a long day. The Phantom raised one eyebrow, as if to smirk at her, but he sat. Noelle collapsed into the chair across from him, exhausted and not caring for the proper etiquette.

"What do you want from me?" She blurted out. She did not know where the question came from, but it seemed right to her to ask it at that moment.

"I mean," she continued, "You give me a lesson, you come to me, you tell me I shall take La Carlotta's place, you get me this new dressing room," (for Noelle was certain that this was his doing), "What do you want from me?" she repeated herself. Her voice grew in volume as she continued on, only half-minding her words. "I did not know that the Opera house come with its own _ghost_, or I would not have come." Her voice was harsh and unforgiving, even to her own ears. "Do you enjoy it?" She asked, not able to realize that she was ranting on mindlessly. "The fear? I know you are a man, an therefore must have the same feelings as a man." She saw astonishment, clearly written on his face. She continued on. "Do you enjoy the looks of fear that they have, watching themselves around every corner, scared that the _phantom_ will come kill them?" She was almost yelling then. She did not even consider or care about the possibility of someone hearing her. "I suspect that you wish that I should fear you too, don't you? That you should scare me? Well, _monsieur, _you don't!"

There was silence for a moment, and she tried to catch the eyes of the man sitting before her, but he would not look at her. She regretted her words immediately, realizing her rashness too late. But the words had sprung from truth. She wanted to know what he wanted of her; what he expected of her.

His green eyes now met hers. There was a little spark, but she saw sadness and hurt in those eyes. She also saw distrust, which was the thing that hurt her the most, cutting her deeply. She berated herself, telling herself that it was foolish to feel any feelings of hurt. She had only met with this man twice before; she didn't even know him! But the hurt penetrated a part of her heart she did not know she still possessed.

"It was a mistake for me to come here," the Phantom said. His voice had a strange ring to it, the beautiful tenor infused with hidden hurt. Noelle was tempted to reach out a hand to him, but one look into his blazing green eyes told her that would not be wise. He stood abruptly. Noelle swallowed, knowing that she caused the hurt that he felt, but helpless to stop it.

A black-gloved hand reached out and caught her wrist, pressing hard on it. She forgot to breathe as she remembered that same hand, reaching out to caress her. She followed the line of his arm with her eyes until she was gazing into those two green pools of light again. They stared at her with an odd combination of anger and accusation. She could loose herself in those eyes, she realized, loose herself and never return from the darkness that was the Phantom's eyes. She felt fear then, abrupt and harsh, seizing her soul. She had never feared a man as much as she feared the Phantom then, not even Michael. Noelle closed her eyes, forgetting the pain in her arm. She felt her arm being released, but still did not open her eyes until she was sure that he was gone.

She opened her eyes and sighed, a long and woeful sigh. She felt her cheeks, barley able to comprehend the fact that she was crying. She climbed into the gigantic bed she had been given, sobbing. She had not cried once since her rape, not ever. She had repressed the hurt, banishing it into a place deep inside of her. It came out now, all the grief and woe she had felt. She wept for herself and for the Phantom. She blew out the candlelight, still crying uncontrollably. It seemed as if this man had opened a gate to her soul, and all the sorrow and grief that she had ever felt.

She lay on her bed, weeping deep, wracking sobs. It seemed as if there was no remedy for the tears that were coming from her, as if they would continue until the end of her life, until her last, sobbing breath. She was so distraught that she did not hear or recognize any sign of the other person in the room until a black glove gently touched her back. She tensed, but then, realizing who it was, relaxed a fraction.

She was still crying, but it was softer now. She felt the gentle presence of another body beside her, even though her head was turned and she could not see him. Him, she thought, the Phantom. The black glove gently encircled her waist, drawing her closer to him. Noelle still felt the sadness, but it was beginning to fade. In its place came a warm feeling of being held; of being safe. It provoked even more tears, gently slipping away into the pillow beneath her head. She was up against his side now, pressed gently up next to him, being held with a tenderness she never imagined possible. She felt his chest, with her back gently pressed up against it. She felt her legs, gently entangled with his. She felt his mask; his cold, white mask, pressed gently above her head.

She heard a gentle, ethereal humming that come from just above her, softly coaxing her to peace and rest. She cried a little still, but listened to the music, transfixed. She gently felt another hand, slowly, gently, making its way to encircle her until she was completely enveloped in the embrace of the Phantom of the Opera. Noelle forgot to think at that point, losing herself in the music and the gentle embrace. She gently felt for the hand that had moved to encircle her, finding it in the dark. She hesitated, but gently eased off the glove. She felt sudden tenseness from the body beside her, but the music did not abate its gentle rhythm.

She slowly interlaced her fingers with those of the Phantom. She felt him begin to tremble. She gently caressed his fingers, his cold fingers, gently bringing warmth and life back to them. It was an unspoken apology for how she had spoken and acted earlier. They were long and graceful; a musician's fingers. They were warm now, and the caressed her back gently, almost timidly. She snuggled closer to the Phantom, her eyes gently beginning to shut. There were no more tears, and her cheeks were beginning to dry. Her hand rested now within his, gently giving and absorbing warmth.

She began to drift off to the gentle music that was sweetly filling her soul. She was half-asleep when a voice whispered gently in her ear, lips softly in her ear, "My name is Erik." _Erik,_ she thought drowsily, her spirit filled with a feeling of contentment.

* * *

Erik hid behind the mirror that was in Noelle's room. He smirked as he saw her close his book, wondering if she had been waiting for him. This thought, he realized, was unworthy of him, and he sent it to the back of his mind. He wondered what she thought, after the day before. Was she still angry? Erik was filled with regret for how he had acted. She had been angry, and it had been his fault. He hoped that she had forgiven him now.

He watched her whisper 'Phantom.' Erik sighed. He did not like it that she only knew him by the name that the ballet-managers and ballet rats knew him as. She is not ready, he warned himself. She cannot accept Erik yet; only show her Phantom. A glimmer of hope rose in him. Perhaps, in time, he told himself, she can grow to accept both.

"I am here, child," Erik said. He, however, know she was not a child, and did not think of her as one. But it was necessary to keep up the 'Phantom' image that he knew she saw him as.

"I am no child," she said, with childlike impishness. Erik smirked. He was amused by her, as much as she irritated him occasionally.

"All the same, you must cover your eyes when I approach." He did not want her to know of the system of mirrors he used to navigate the Opera house. Erik had learned stealth well, and did not make a sound as he entered the room. He saw her then, with her slender hands covering her eyes. Her beauty made his breath catch, as always. He gently touched her arm, his flesh inflaming even from the slight contact with her skin, and with a glove between them. He took in the outfit she was wearing. It was a simple leotard and tights; yet the sight of her made him catch his breath. He managed to keep all this from his expression and eyes. He knew that she could read him through the expressions in his eyes.

"Sit, please," she snapped at him, with obvious sarcasm. Erik felt her words burn him deep, the sarcasm in them hurting him. Had he done something wrong? He did nothing, but simply stood there, not knowing what to do. She continued on, her words still vaguely angry. "I have so much room now, that it would be a shame not to take advantage of it." Erik wondered if there was some problem with the room. He began to come back to his senses slowly, a bit of anger beginning to build inside of him.

"Do you like your new room?" asked Erik. He hadn't figured that Noelle would be like Carlotta; spoiled and never content with what she had. He hoped that wasn't the case. Somehow, he had never seen Noelle that way.

"Please, sit," she said. Her voice was kinder now. Erik nodded, taking a seat, wondering if she had even heard his question. It was clear that something was on her mind. He had planned to take her once again to the study-room to give her another lesson, this time concentrating on her vocal abilities. Although they were good, there was still room for improvement. He watched her with concern he dared not show as she collapsed into the chair across from him. Her eyes were dull, and he feared for her, that she had lost her light somehow; the part of her he most admired.

"What do you want from me?" Noelle blurted out at him. He frowned. What did he _want_ with her? He thought of all his fantasies and hopes of the woman sitting across from him. They all seemed impossible and foolish to him now.

"I mean, you give me a lesson, you come to me, you tell me I shall take La Carlotta's place, you get me this new dressing room, What do you want from me?" Erik clenched his jaw against the pain. No! His mind shouted. It was not true. She was not accusing him... she could not be. She understood! Her voice continued on, a relentless tirade. "I did not know that the Opera house come with its own _ghost_, or I would not have come." Erik felt that as a slap across the face. He trembled with the hurt. "Do you enjoy it? The fear?" Erik inhaled sharply. Was that what she thought of him? "I know you are a man, an therefore must have the same feelings as a man." Erik felt astonishment, abrupt and glaring in its intensity. She knew he was a man, his mind whispered dully. She knew, and she loathed him.

"Do you enjoy the looks of fear that they have, watching themselves around every corner, scared that the _phantom_ will come kill them?" Erik noticed the emphasis on his title. It was like a knife in his gut, twisting and burning. She detested him, his mind screamed. Of course she does, came the response. You are a monster and she is an angel. Of course she hates you. "I suspect that you wish that I should fear you too, don't you? That you should scare me? Well, _monsieur, _you don't!" Erik felt the hurt of her words, worse then any physical pain he could have endured. He felt her trying to see into his eyes. He evaded her, trying desperately to get his emotions under control. But his mother was there, along with the countless others, a multitude of others who detested him. And she hadn't even seen his face yet. He had been foolish to trust her, his mind whispered. Of course she hated him. He was a murderer; a monster; _Satan's child._

He finally met her eyes. The look of regret in them almost killed him, but he forced the words to come from his tongue.

"It was a mistake to come here," Erik said. The hurt was gone, and in its place was anger; anger that burned and scalded him. He grabbed her wrist cruelly; he grabbed her thin wrist and held it. He watched her eyes travel up into his, slowly meandering into the darkness that was his soul. For the first time, he saw fear in them. It was more fear then he ever could imagine could be in her eyes. And it was because of him. She closed her eyes; her crystalline blue eyes were closed now, tears quivering on the edges of them. Erik let go of her wrist. He could not hurt her; he would not. He felt guilt and anger, conflicting within him in a tumultuous sea of emotion.

He stepped into the mirror dazedly, not caring if she saw. As soon as he was in the corridor, and safely away from her beautiful blue eyes that penetrated his soul, he leaned against the wall, no longer able to stand. The way she had looked at him... the mercy and compassion, mingled with fear... it was too much. Staggering, he began to make his way down to his lair, where she could not haunt him.

He heard weeping behind him, in the room he had left. He turned around. The weeping was so heart-broken and distraught, it cut into his heart. It was Noelle, weeping. But why does she cry, he wondered. Was it because of him? He did not mean to cause a second of pain to her.

He turned back and watched her from behind the mirror. She had thrown herself on the bed, and was weeping brokenly with a despair he had thought no other human being had. He was mesmerized by her, as much as he was sorry that she was crying. She blew out the light, and still cried in the dark.

Erik slowly entered the room, all the emotion of the previous moment gone, replaced with concern. He wanted to comfort her, any way he could. His mind threatened him, telling him that this was not at all wise. But he did not listen, gone in his concern for Noelle. She did not notice him, but continued to sob.

He gently came up to her, mesmerized by her beauty, even when she was in pain. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he gently reached out his hand to her back. He felt the muscles tense at first, but then they relaxed. Still not knowing what he was doing, he gently hoisted himself onto the bed. She did not draw away from him, and so he gently reached out an arm, hardly believing that she was letting him do this, and brought her close against him. Her touch was intoxicating to him; having her this close to him was amazing and wonderful, and almost made him descent into fantasy... but this was about comforting her, not him.

He gently began to hum in her ear, trying to comfort her with music. Slowly, her sobs died down as she listened to his voice. He allowed his other arm to gently cradle her body, so that he formed a cradle for her, gently comforting her. _Comfort._ It was strange to him that Noelle would seek comfort from him. Yet she did.

He felt one of her gentle, beautiful hands gently move towards his. His heartbeat began to race faster now, but he kept singing. Erik felt her remove the glove. He was tempted to hold his breath, but he was in the middle of a note. So he kept on singing, wondering what was going to happen, and hardly wishing to hope.

She gently intertwined her fingers with his. Erik swallowed, trembling. His fingers had never been touched with so much... love, so much gentleness, so much tenderness. She was gently caressing them, bringing warmth where it had never been. He trembled, trying to still sing, and succeeding. She had stopped, content to hold his hand. He slowly, timidly, began to return the caresses onto her fingers, gently stroking them with all the tenderness he could. He heard her sigh of contentment, and kept singing, softly and sweetly.

The song was coming to an end, and he felt her gradual drift off into half-sleep. Erik felt as if there was something he should do, something he should tell her... Of course, his mind told him.

"My name is Erik," he whispered gently into her ear. He knew she heard him, and was content to lie there and let her drift off into sleep. Erik did not sleep usually very much; yet lying here, embracing her, he allowed his mind the gentle recess into dreams.


	10. A Pact

**A/N: Yes, I like fluff. Don't worry, there will come passion later, but right now I am in a particularly fluffy mood. Enjoy this next chapter! Sorry that I haven't updated sooner, but School has been busy, and I just started a new fic. **

Noelle woke gently the next morning. She did not sleep much, out of habit. The first thing she remembered were arms, gently around her; warmth, and a beautiful voice, comforting her... _Erik, _her mind whispered gently. _Erik. _He had trusted her with his name, she thought dazedly, amazed and happy. The memory of him seemed to stay in her soul, filling her spirit with a feeling not unlike the one when she had tasted good wine, allowing it to fill her spirit with warmth.She remembered everything else that had transpired that night and shook her head, disgusted with herself. She had acted like a child; no better than the brat she had been when she had been living with her mother.

Noelle turned around blinking sleep from her eyes, half-expecting Erik still to be there. She smiled dazedly as she realized he had left a note. She sat up, noticing that she had foolishly fallen asleep in her ballet clothes, which were by now hopelessly ruined. She straightened herself out, smoothing her clothing down gently, until she felt awake enough to read the note.

Noelle picked up the letter. It was written in red ink, which made her pause and smile. It seemed amusing to think that Erik wrote to both the managers and her in the same manner. She frowned as she began to read it, having some trouble. It was written in a scrawling, messy hand, with many of the letters and words disjointed and halting. Noelle remembered the kindness of her tutor, who had been patient enough to teach her how to read, something that her mother had neglected to do. Many of her other 'friends' had not expressed any kind of interest in reading, preferring to pursue other, more wonton acts. Noelle had found the world of books fascinating, and had devoured novel after novel, much to the irritation of her mother. She forced her thoughts back to the note. She was forced to read it several times over before she could fully comprehend it. The basic thought of it was:

_Dear Mademoiselle Chanter, _

_Last night was... amazing, my dear. I fear that I have too many tasks to attend to for me to stay with you later then I have. I would come to you tonight again, for a singing lesson. There is much I have to teach you before you are to take Carlotta's part. Expect me around seven o'clock. I look forward to seeing you then. _

– _Your faithful servant and teacher, _

– _O. G._

_P.S.- Look in your closet. I hope you will be pleased. _

Noelle wondered why he signed the note O.G. That was strange- didn't he trust her? There was no need for him to be Phantom now; with her. She sighed and wandered aimlessly over to the bathroom mirror, where she scrubbed her face hard with water and looked up to see a woman with a vague, disoriented, happy look on her face. She realized that the woman was her, after a brief moment, and almost cursed herself aloud for looking like such a fool.

Noelle closed her eyes, swiftly banishing all emotion from her thoughts and eyes. It was a process she had underwent often, for one could see what she was thinking through her eyes. She gently rubbed her temples as she assumed the mask that she had been wearing ever since she came to the Opera Populaire. She conjured up the image of herself, looking like a wraith, not sticking out at all, looking like all the other ballet girls; blending in.

Noelle opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. Gone was the innocent girl who had gazed at her before; in her place, there was a woman who seemed to shrink back into herself, blending in perfectly with her surroundings. She smiled at herself in the small mirror, seeing the demure, almost sarcastic ghost on her lips. Good, she thought. Now, no one will see me, or even remember my name. Except for Erik, a little voice whispered.

She suddenly remembered his instructions to look in her closet. She carefully walked over to her closet, wondering briefly what the Phantom of the Opera could have left in her closet...

She walked over to the closet's dark brown wooden doors and slowly opened them. What she saw made her jaw drop.

The hangar inside was filled with dresses. They were her kind of dresses too- there were high-collared and stiff ones, and there were more relaxed ones too. There were formal dresses, adorned with riches she could have hardly imagined. They were all modest, and suited her tastes perfectly.

She actually staggered a couple of paces back, still trying to comprehend what she had seen. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, unable to think until she saw the white note, pinned on one of her dresses. She picked it up, her hands mechanically obeying her. It read,

_Now, you shall dress in splendor, and your inner beauty shall match your outer. Best Regards, Erik. _

Noelle closed her eyes, swallowing. She opened them and managed a smile. "Thank you, Erik," she whispered gently. She changed into a ballet leotard and tights, choosing a black, velvet leotard and the uniform tights; she found now that she had many choices.

She walked out into the hallway, noticing that no one was up yet. She smiled, the memory of music still lingering and haunting her ear and her mind.

She walked for while, exploring the vast Opera House. She smiled at the few workers that were up and working. She did not venture too low into the many leveled building, and eventually realized that it was rehearsal time.

The rehearsal went as well as it could have with a overblown, spoilt diva as the main star. Noelle was tempted to scream at Carlotta's second fit, but she did not, and eventually got through the day. She retired to her quarters and finished the book she had started earlier, devouring it with speed.

Seven o'clock approached her, and she closed her eyes and turned around, waiting for Erik. An ethereal humming approached her, and she welcomed it, for she knew the voice belonged to its master, Erik.

She felt, once again, a light touch on her elbow. Even the slight touch made her heart begin to race, and she had to force her pulse to be calm. He stood before her, still clad in dress-clothes, bent in a bow. Noelle was taken aback with surprise; he had never bowed to her! He looked up, and his green eyes met hers gently, yet with a power in them she knew there to be. He straightened, and she wondered briefly where he had learned such manners. He beckoned for her to sit, and she nodded, promptly doing so. She felt mildly surprised; she had thought that they would start on her lesson right away.

He gently bowed over her hand, and she recalled all the lessons of formality that had been drummed into her by her mother from an early age. She lapsed into those patterns then, smiling at Erik.

"You wanted to speak with me, monsieur?" Erik looked up at her, and a brief flicker of surprise came and went across his face. She grinned, amused that he was startled.

"Yes, Noelle," his soft, melodic voice said. "I wish to talk to you about the nature of our relationship."

Noelle was startled by the forward manner in which he was talking to her. She had not expected this, not seen it coming for miles away...

Erik continued on, brushing past her startled look. His voice lowered, and although he did not touch her, his voice seemed to caress her in a gentle way that took the sting out of his words.

"I... showed a side of myself last night to you that I have never showed to... anyone before." Erik took a breath, and Noelle began to think about caressing his hands to give him some semblance of comfort... but something in his eyes warned her against it. Erik continued on, "But, Noelle, we cannot continue in this fashion." Noelle felt hurt at his words, and she frowned and opened her mouth to protest. But Erik kept talking on, "At least until Hannibal starts. You have an... amazing voice, Noelle, but it has not been used properly for a long time. I need to train you. I need to be your teacher for a little while longer. A relationship, at least for now, would accomplish nothing, and would be too distracting, for both me and you..."

Noelle averted her gaze from his penetrating eyes. He was speaking to her honestly, but she did not like what he was telling her. She was a distraction? Her lower lip trembled a little bit, but she would not play the brat this time and cry...

She felt a hand on her hand. It was a black glove, and although it trembled a little bit, it stayed. She looked up into Erik's eyes, and the look of half-reverence, half-concern in them made her catch her breath. She had never had a man look at her that way...

Erik said softly, in almost a pleading tone, "I need this time too." Noelle took a breath, and thought about his words and the implications in them for a moment. She put herself in Erik's shoes, and was almost immediately terrified. If she had been a recluse for a long time... she looked at his trembling hand, and remembered how it had been almost afraid to touch her before. She wondered if he had even ever been _touched_ before... She sighed, realizing Erik's need for time, and resigning herself to it.

Something in her eyes must have betrayed her, for Erik nodded, and reverently bent over her hand. His lips almost grazed her skin, and Noelle realized that this was the almost only contact they would have for almost three months. This was a gift for both him and her...

Erik then stood up and told her to close her eyes. She complied, wondering what the system of passages was. She felt a hand, pulling her in the direction of the wall on which her mirror was hung; and she did not resist, but instead let herself be gently pulled through, placing her complete and absolute trust and faith in the man she knew as Erik...


	11. A Dream

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! They are really encouraging, and help to motivate me. Sorry if this chapter seems a little rushed. Also, The Phantom of the Opera does not in any way belong to me, and is sole property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Joel Shumaker, etc. etc. _

Time passed quickly as Noelle began to train her voice in all the mannerisms Erik desired, and the time soon approached for _Hannibal._ She became a champion singer under Erik's careful tutelage, learning more about the art of singing then she ever dreamed was possible. She learned to treasure and cherish her voice in the wake of Erik's instruction. It wasn't always easy; Erik was a strict perfectionist, who would tolerate nothing but the best singing.

They also held many discussions, although they avoided touching. Noelle began to see a side of Erik that she never had; the side of him that was almost human, and thought as one. Erik was surprised to find himself opening part of his soul for another human being. He had retreated far into the walls of his solitude, and was amazed that someone had dared to breach them, even as far enough as to have rational conversations without judgement or disgust.

They argued and discussed all manners of things, and although they often disagreed, they never held it against each other. Noelle found herself enjoying Erik's wry twist of cynicism and sarcasm. He enjoyed her wit as well, delighting in her unexpected cleverness. Noelle began to know Erik, and the more she knew, the more she was troubled by his bitterness and the grudge he seemed to hold against the world. He would often stare into the distance, lost to her, and his green eyes would take on a _look_, where she wanted to reach out to him, but did not know how.

There was desire, too. Occasionally, their hands or arms would touch, and there would be an awkward second where they both had to compose themselves and rise above the red-hot flames that threatened to ensnare them. But the arrangement was fine for Noelle, whose nightmares had not stopped. Michael was there, inside her mind, ready at a moment's notice to haunt her again. Erik also appreciated the time. He also had mental demons that he could not lay to rest, and he found it hard to be in her presence; she was an angel, and he was a demon.

But their time together was soon at an end, and the time for Hannibal drew near...

Noelle slept, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Erik watched her through the mirror, daring hardly to breathe. His infatuation with Noelle had grown until it was like a beast inside of him. He could hardly control it, and yet he could barley touch her for fear of getting rejected. It was agony for him, and there was no cure except for _her. _

He knew the plans he had for her. The elder Giry was already informed to what she would do when the time came, and Noelle was ready to sing the part. Carlotta would not have it, for she did not deserve it. Only Noelle could sing the words correctly, with the right amount of feeling and _passion, _something that the overstuffed diva did not understand.

"Soon," Erik whispered to her softly. Soon, Noelle would emerge as he knew her to be, and then . . . Erik smiled softly to himself. He alone knew his plans for Noelle. He left, striding down the corridors. He was already too far gone to hear Noelle cry out in her nightmares by the fime she did.

_Michael picked up the knife, a sneer on his face. _

"_You actually thought you could hurt me with this, didn't you, you little chit of a girl," he snarled. Noelle backed up against the wall in her dream, horrified. This wasn't how it had gone. She had held the knife to his throat and- _

_Michael's face multiplied itself until there were thousands of him, all leering at her. The main-Michael, the one with the body, stepped towards her. Noelle looked for somewhere to run, but there was another Michael there. He was everywhere. Noelle clutched her hands to her head, sobbing. Michael advanced towards her and grabbed the inside of her thigh viciously, reaching into her dress. She knew he would give her a bruise. _

"_You already ravaged me once," Noelle whispered, her defiance showing itself once more. "What do you want?" she gasped, hardly able to see through a haze of red. Michael and her were suddenly transported to a corner of the Opera-house. She was against the wall, and everything spun weirdly, twisting to make her feel nauseous. _

_Michael's face spun in and out of view, until suddenly it came into her vision with a eerie sharp clarity. Noelle gasped, knowing this was the worst of the hallucinations. It was Erik's face. She felt a noose slip over her head, and his green eyes never left hers. She couldn't breathe, and he was there. She gasped for breath, and vaguely remembered Leona telling her about the Lasso._

"_Soon," he whispered. Noelle slipped into darkness. _

Noelle woke, gasping for breath. The cream and green colored blankets were all around her. Her mind screamed that it was real for a few more seconds until she realized that it was a dream. She sighed, shaken. It had seemed so real to her. Noelle knew where she was then, and what would happen the next day. She hummed 'Think of Me' softly to herself. Hannibal tomorrow, she thought.

Noelle paced around her room. It was a sign of impatience that she had taken up. She smiled, her blue eyes clear of everything. Tomorrow, she would sing for Erik. Noelle shivered as she thought about what that meant. Tomorrow, Paris would discover her. Tomorrow, all eyes would be on her. Noelle shivered with fear as she thought of the collective gaze of the theater's patrons and audience members. Erik had promised her that it would be so It chilled her, and yet she was excited in some strange way. She thought of Michael, and her throat began to close with fear. But then, she remembered Erik. All thoughts within her head vanished to the tune of the music he had hummed in her ear, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

_A/– This chapter was really short, and I haven't updated in a month, for which I apologize. ;) Things are really hectic right now, and updating will be slow up until the beginning of June. Thanks for the reviews I received. Anyone who hasn't checked out the new Narnia trailer has to! _

_movies. channel. aol. com /franchise / exclusives/ chroniclesof**narnia**movie (without the spaces...)_


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